


Hear Me

by SubwayWolf



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Beards, Churches & Cathedrals, Confessions, Dirty Jokes, First Kiss, Fluff, Hawke Smells Really Bad, Just a Bunch of Dialogue, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Shopping, Slow Burn, Some Isabela/Hawke, ass grabbing, hugs and kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke carries himself like he's some sort of god, yet still looks at Anders like the mage is a divine being straight from the heavens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pale Light

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a massive Dragon Age fic (90k so far) that I won't ever post but I'm going to make some of it presentable and post a few Anders/Hawke parts here. The nsfw parts may come eventually if I build up the confidence. If some parts seem like they're diverging from canons (such as Grey Warden Hawke) its because they're my canon. 
> 
> To put it simply, I just wanted to write something without sex in it. Trying to cleanse my palate a bit. ;)
> 
> As with my Nathaniel/Cousland fic, I'm leaving out the name of my Hawke as I did my Warden. For the record, his name is Zack and you can ask me stuff and learn all about him and see him [here](http://zackwolfknight.tumblr.com/tagged/literally-zack)! :) (Please ask me about him!)

Of course, when Hawke entered Anders’ clinic, the mage was doing his job. There was a small boy on the operating cot; eyes closed, barely breathing, bleeding badly on his leg. Anders stood over him and the room was swirling with pale blue light and energy. He lifted his arms, surging the magic to where it needed to be, and in an instant, the boy gasped and sat up in the cot, his wound closed and healed.

As Anders was thanked by the young boy and his family, Hawke made his way over, smiling. The family eventually cleared and left, and Anders was finally alone with him. “Hawke,” he said with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you to come, after…” He trailed off, and then restated himself. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to talk to you.”

The smile on his face made Hawke beyond happy. “That was so great. The magic… it’s beautiful. I like to watch you work.”

“Then you should come over more often,” Anders retorted, only smiling wider. “I know you’re busy, but I like spending time with you.” He checked across the room to make sure there were no more patients, and then turned back to Hawke. The smile started to fade. “I wanted to apologize for how I’ve been speaking with you. The way you were talking to Fenris about me made me think about how I’ve been acting.”

Hawke furrowed his brow. “I can’t recall anything you would want to apologize for.” Truly, not even Justice could say something and make Hawke angry. He liked Anders too much for that.

Anders looked sorry on his face, Hawke could see. “That night you walked me home, when I was telling you about Justice...” He took a breath. “I feel like I was being selfish. Just pouring out all of my problems to you as if you had any inclination to hear them. And you had questions of your own. I wasn’t coming off as very approachable, I’m sure.” He seemed to be ashamed of this, almost. There was more he was hiding.

There was no need for Anders to apologize, truly, so Hawke made a joke of it. “I’m used to it, actually. People always seem quite comfortable with sharing their darkest secrets with me. I must look trustworthy.”

“You look…” Anders pondered, raising an eyebrow. “Something.” He narrowed his eyes, considering Hawke carefully. The smile was returning. “You’re… true. Proud. Like you will be honest with me even if you don’t agree with me. I like that.” He shook his head gently. “It’s just that I didn’t mean to be selfish that night. If there’s anything you want to know, you can ask me at any time, and I’ll be straightforward with you.”

Hawke shook his head. “You weren’t being selfish. All things considered, you were being quite fair about it. The circumstances were unique. I think you handled it as well as possible.”

Anders raised a hand to the off-white feathers on the shoulders of his robes. He smoothed them down, making sure they were all in place. “The whole thing is bloody selfish,” he said through a sigh. “When I saw you standing there in my clinic, with white eyes like I have when I’m Justice… that was so incredible to see. But when I was telling you, I wasn’t sure what would happen. I just figured that maybe, if I had a friend to hear it…” He took a deep breath and left his feathers alone. 

It was easy for Hawke to think up a way to help Anders feel better. “I do have one question, now that you ask,” he said thoughtfully. “Why did the Grey Wardens make you get rid of your cat?”

This caused Anders to smile and his eyes to light up in that endearing way. “They thought that having a cat made me weak.” He laughed to himself. “But let me tell you, Ser Pounce-a-lot was not weak.” He looked at Hawke for a long moment, just regarding him. “I used to know someone like you. We would always run around together, getting into trouble. I never thought I’d find myself in that position again.” He shrugged, chuckling. “I suppose that I figured anything would be better than living out the rest of my life as a possessed, roguish mage, with Justice playing the demon and haunting some corpse.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Aw, come on. Neither of you have it too bad. Justice doesn’t have to complain about his looks, at least.”

Anders smiled. His eyes were shining, Hawke could have sworn. He looked away again, that happiness gone quickly. “Do you flirt with everyone you find attractive?”

It was a question that Hawke did not understand why it would be asked. “I know a pretty face when I see one,” he explained. “But I only take my chances with exceptional people. Exceptional minds, exceptional motivations, exceptional hearts.” He looked at Anders calmly, then narrowed his eyes. “Are you jealous, perhaps?” he asked through a smirk.

“Perhaps,” a smiling Anders admitted. Then he started to remember, and think hard about what he said. His smile went away. “Last night… I was a jerk about Fenris.” His eyes cast downwards. “I was being selfish and extremely rude. Don’t tell me I wasn’t, because I was.” He exhaled gently through his nose. “I’m ashamed. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were angry with me.”

Hawke let out a small laugh. “You admitting that you were jealous made me forget if I was even mad in the first place. Either way, if I was upset at you, you would know.” The answer did not satisfy the mage, it was clear. “If you want to hear that I forgive you, then okay. I forgive you.” He paused for a moment. “I think the way you were acting last night is in part due to the way I was acting,” he admitted. “I confess that I was taking amusement in teasing you.” Hawke grimaced. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

Anders laughed silently, so only his body shook. “You’re lucky Justice didn’t show himself. He has a bit of a crush on you, I think.” He seemed grateful that Hawke didn’t dwell upon what was rather obviously a slip of the tongue. Anders changed the subject. “What did you end up doing with Fenris while you were there?”

“I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Hawke looked away to allow Anders a moment to be pleased. “My simple goal was to make a friend, and that is what it appears I did. Sharing more than that would be betraying Fenris’ confidence, so I will stop there.” After folding his arms, Hawke kept his eyes on Anders as he talked. “I’m afraid what happened is bad news to your ears. Fenris is staying here in Kirkwall in his ex-master’s abandoned mansion. I also convinced him to join the team, so you and him are going to get a lot of time together.”

Despite his suspicion, Anders maintained his smile, possibly for the longest time Hawke had ever seen. “How horrible. Can you at least give me a little good news to make up for all of that shit?”

After considering, Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Now that you mention it…” He raised a finger to make his next point. “You may be happy to discover that your jealousy is unfounded. Fenris…” Hawke trailed off in his thoughts and his voice. He was careful with what he said. “He is at a level of character that is well above mine. I don’t deserve him.” Hawke lowered his eyes, but brought them back up again. “A damn shame, too. He is absolutely beautiful.” Anders averted eye contact, and Hawke raised an eyebrow. “But so are you. Maybe I should have made that clear.” A pink rush of heat passed Anders’ cheeks and he succumbed to a smile. Hawke spoke carefully. “Fenris is exceptional. You are exceptional. But in such different ways. I am stupidly smitten by the both of you. With you, though, I’m a hopeless case. Be rude to me all you want. I’ll still be in love with you, and Justice, too.”

Anders was quiet, hesitant for a long moment. He clearly had something to say, but he just said it carefully. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who throws the word ‘love’ around loosely.” His voice was soft. He was having difficulty making eye contact.

“You are absolutely right,” Hawke agreed. “In fact, I don’t use the word at all. Not until now, at least.” He sighed as if thinking deeply. “I hope I am using it correctly. It’s the only thing that comes to mind when I think about you. I’ve never been in love before, so I guess I wouldn’t know, but it must be like this.” He smiled calmly. “I’m still trying to figure it all out. I’ll keep you updated.”

There was a smile on Anders’ face. He was smiling with his eyes, too. He had a smile so big that it made his eyes squint in an adorable way. But it happened again; the smile fell and turned into a prominent sadness that made the glow on his face disappear.

“You have got to stop doing that.” Hawke shook his head. “You smile so prettily one second, and then the next your entire face falls into a tragic frown. It’s absolutely heartbreaking. I very much prefer it when you’re smiling.”

The straying locks of Anders’ blonde hair fell into his eyes, and he paid no mind to them. His face was somber and sad. “I like you a lot, Hawke. I like being with you. I like looking at you. I like the things you do and the words you say and the way you look at me.” Despite his words, Anders wasn’t looking at Hawke even then, he was staring down and across the room at nothing at all. “But if anyone finds out that you and I are friends… a warrior and a mage…” He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. “They would hurt you. Because of me.”

The somberness settled into Hawke’s gut and felt heavy there. “No one can hurt us, Anders. Messing with you or me is a death wish.” He allowed himself to half-smile. “Anyone with the audacity to threaten us won’t be able to have a good night’s sleep for the rest of their sorry lives, what with the constant night terrors about glowing white eyes. And besides, putting risk and danger between us just makes our potential romance that much more fun, wouldn’t you say?” Hawke’s smile fell slightly. “Why are you so worried about this now?”

Anders looked back at Hawke, his eyes brimming with sadness. “The Templars were practically on my doorstep last night,” he said quietly. “They were searching the refugee camps across the way.” The fear in his voice was plain. “They’re cracking down. It’s only a matter of time.”

Baring teeth, Hawke lowered his brow angrily. He did not like to see Anders so scared. “You think I’m afraid of some bloody Templars? I’m surprised that you are. I’d like to see them try and lay a finger on you. Do you think you could heal someone after I cut their fucking head off?”

Sighing gently, Anders shook his head. “It isn’t that easy, and you know it.” He looked Hawke dead in the eyes. “Knight-Commander Meredith made an announcement yesterday – my patients were talking about it this morning. Being caught with an apostate mage is now considered a hanging offense.” His brow knit, and the corners of his mouth turned downwards. “The thought of losing you… to them.” He turned his eyes down. “It’s too much to even think about.”

Hawke had an easy answer for that. “That’s called a risk. Something I am more than willing to take for someone I care about.” He kept his voice calm and made no jokes at all, not on this serious topic. “As long as we stick together, I have nothing at all to fear and neither do you.” He was desperately trying to make his words do the trick, but that had always been hard for Hawke. “Anders, as foolish as it sounds, I am in love with you. And I promise you with all truths within me I will give all of my physical might every hour of every day to ensure that no one is ever going to take you away from me.” Hawke reached his fingers out, hesitated, and then felt for Anders’ hand, brushing the back of his hand with the tips of his fingers. “I promise you.”

Feeling the touch of Hawke’s fingers brushing against his own, Anders let his eyes close. He then shifted his hand so it was closer to Hawke’s, and then slid his fingers in between each of Hawke’s, slipping them so they fit perfectly there, sliding into place like soft silk. They held hands for a long time, then. An unexplainable energy flowed through them. Neither of them wanted to let go.


	2. Hard Place

As soon as Hawke and his team turned around and saw the Templars, they moved to pass them without incident. But they were not so lucky.

A Templar held a hand up. His armor clinked together as he moved his arm. Hawke’s team halted. “You think we’re going to take them back to the Circle? What, so they can preach their tales of demons to the good mages?” He put his hand down. “Not happening. Once apostates get a taste of freedom, they should be put down.” He drew his longsword, and the steel screamed as it tasted air. “Swords out, boys.” Another two Templars took out their weapons as well. There was one of them who stilled his hand.

This set Anders off. Suddenly Justice took over. Anders’ eyes went white and glowed like two suns, and his voice ran deep and dark. “The mages are under the Chantry’s protection!” Lightning began to glow in his hands. “And mine!”

“Anders!” Hawke said sternly, and then, “Justice! Not today, or they’ll kill you first.” The threat did not slow Justice down even a second, but it was worth trying. Truly, Hawke did not care who died, as long as his friends did not fall victim to any harm. 

A Templar who did not take his sword out addressed his fellow knights. “If you kill these mages, I’ll report you to the Divine herself. I’m taking them back to the Circle before you get any other ideas.” He stepped forward and stood in front of them, facing their swords. He glanced at Hawke, trust in his eyes. “Bring me the mages, or there truly is no hope for them in this world.”

The armed templar bared teeth. “Fuck off.” He looked at Hawke, eagerness in his eyes. “Come on, Hawke. Hand them to me, and we’ll forget about your abomination friend.” He grinned, gesturing to the sword at Hawke’s hip. “We could kill those blood mages together, for Kirkwall’s sake. What do you say?”

There were a thousand possibilities to what would happen, but Hawke kept focused on what he wanted to say. “I already said, I’m going home. I don’t care what happens to them. They aren’t my responsibility.” He leered at the Templar through narrowed eyes. “Payment.” 

After sighing, the Templar took a cloth coin purse out of his pocket and tossed it to Hawke, who caught it with one hand. 

“Send the Knight-Captain my regards,” Hawke sighed as he peered through the pouch and counted all fifteen pieces of gold, then turned away.

Though Hawke had to get a hand on Anders’ sleeve and practically drag him out of the room, they were able to exit without further incident. Once they were out of the area, the tension started to calm. The cave was quiet and calm, and the voices from the other room did not carry far enough for the team to hear.

Fenris stood square in front of Anders, looking into his glowing eyes and hearing his deep voice, anger overtaking him to a dangerous degree. “Explain this to me. Now.” Hawke was not sure who he was talking to. Fenris bared teeth and stared up into Justice’s eyes. “What are you? A demon?”

When Hawke released the grip on his sleeve, Justice stepped forward. Anders himself was taller than Fenris and looked down to make eye contact. “I am a spirit of Justice.” He could tell that Fenris was seriously angry. “It is understandable that Anders has not told you of me, Fenris. I am always watching, waiting to do what Anders is afraid to do, or say what he is afraid to say.” He turned his head and looked at Hawke. “I feel everything that he feels. I am a part of him that he tries to hide away, yet I am what keeps him strong.”

Hawke swallowed hard and looked into Justice’s eyes. He was not afraid, despite knowing deep down that he probably should be. “Anders is happy to sacrifice brute strength for pacifism. But he would never admit that he falls directly in the middle of both extremes.”

The glowing of Justice’s eyes was dim and had a tint of blue to it. Hawke was starting to realize the differences between their alternate forms. “You know him well,” Justice admitted. “Is it true that you love him? He spends a lot of time pondering what you said. He is not sure if he believes you.”

The scrutinizing eyes of Fenris seared into Hawke, waiting for an answer. Hawke did not acknowledge his gaze, and just smiled calmly at the spirit of Justice. “I will have to prove it to him, then.”

Justice nodded once. “You will.” It was almost disturbing to see Anders’ likeness with such a dark spirit within it, the deep voice passing his pretty pink lips not even close his own, gentle and peaceful. Justice gestured to the direction they had just come from. “Your passive decision-making back in that cave was not something to be ashamed of. We don’t have to be worried for those mages, in truth. The Templars won’t hurt them unless they want to lose their heads.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. He and Anders were of equal height, so eye contact was easy. “I wasn’t worried about the mages,” he said gently. “I was worried about what you were going to do and what Anders was going to regret.”

Justice nodded once, lightly. “I can see why he desires you so.”

This caused Hawke to half-smile, only slightly. He reached a hand out and touched Justice’s face. Justice’s eyes closed slightly. “Justice and vengeance are two separate things. You must remember that.” He let his smile drop. “Bring Anders back to me.”

It took no hesitation for Justice to close his eyes. When they were opened again, the eyes belonged to Anders, irises brown, regret apparent. His lips parted and he furrowed his brow. “I’m so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” He closed his eyes, sadness and shame lowering his expression. “I’m sorry.”

Hawke kept his hand on Anders’ face for as long as he could, and then took it away. At the lack of touch, Anders opened his eyes again. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Justice handled it well.” With the return of happiness that came to Anders’ eyes, Hawke was glad to notice that he had complimented both the spirit and Anders himself. 

A considerable and safe distance away, Carver let out a heavy sigh, so great that his shoulders rose and fell with his deep breath. “So.” He folded his arms, looking at Hawke with narrowed eyes. “When were you planning on telling me that your boyfriend was demon-possessed?”

Unyielding, Fenris restated the essence of the last conversation. “Anders is an abomination.” He shook his head, still baffled and angry, keeping his eyes locked to the mage’s. “I should have known.” When his eyes turned to glare at Hawke, it was clear he was disappointed in him too.

This whole situation obviously made Anders very hurt, and Fenris’ words only made him feel worse. He snapped in result. “I’m not an abomination. It’s far more complicated than you could possibly understand.” He turned his eyes to Fenris’, trying not to be fazed by how angry they were. “I could put it in smaller words for you, but that’s a waste of my time. So the simple answer is no.”

Still wholly unsatisfied, Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Do you think of yourself as harmless, then?”

Anders narrowed his eyes. “Harmless, like ripping someone’s heart out of their chest?” It was clear to everyone that he was desperate to change the subject.

There was half a second of hesitation. “I did that under the influence of no demon,” Fenris responded, slightly puzzled.

“Good.” He turned and started walking ahead to where the cave’s entrance was, so they could go come. “So we agree that demons don’t need to be involved for someone to be a vicious killer.” He walked alone for a while, but then the team followed him.


	3. Convocation

Although neither Carver nor Hawke had careful hands or light touches, they went through the ritual of shaving each other when the need arose. Sometimes Hawke wanted to grow his beard out and sometimes Carver tried to do the same but could rarely grow anything more than patchy stubble. Hawke had not shaved since first assembling the team months ago, so now Carver was lathering him up in lye and scraping the curly black hairs off of him with expert movements. Hawke was seated, shirtless, lying back over a rusty wash bin filled with lathered water as his brother relaxed and did his work.

It was then that Anders came to the door, opening it on his own. Even though they lived in Lowtown, the Hawke family never locked their door. The only people that bothered them were friends. No enemy was stupid enough to come to their place, where they would surely lose. Anders must not have liked this idea because he entered with a concerned look on his face, but 

Hawke greeted him with a grin all the same. “Anders! Come in.” Anders washed into a smile and shut the door behind him. It was the first time he had ever visited. “Did Varric tell you where I lived?” Hawke asked beneath a beard of white, creamy lye. “Bloody snitch.”

Fenris was in a seat near Hawke’s. “You shouldn’t be here, mage. People saw you walk in.” It was midday and Templars teemed all around Lowtown, and typically it was Hawke who went to fetch Anders whenever he need the mage’s aid.

Anders seemed distantly upset that Hawke was not alone at home. No doubt he wanted to speak to Hawke in private about something, or else he wouldn’t have shown. He watched Carver do his work shaving the bigger Hawke, then decided, “You look like you could use a hand.” His eyes were lingering towards Hawke’s bare torso, dark with a trail of hair that furrowed down his midsection and disappeared beneath the line of his pants.

Carver watched Anders’ eyes move down his brother’s body and scowled. “I wouldn’t let you near my brother with this blade even if you gave me all the gold in Orlais.” He dipped the hair-caked blade into the water to wash it off, then brought it up to remove another patch of hair. Hawke started moving, his eyes on Anders, wanting to greet him more appropriately, but Carver stopped him before he started. “Stay still, Hawke,” he asserted, putting his free hand on Hawke’s broad, muscled shoulder and putting pressure down until he relaxed.

Anders knew that Carver was watching him carefully but it didn’t seem to stop him. Hawke craned his head back to give his brother more room. Hawke’s torso was thick and sturdy with muscle, packed like a tree trunk, his pectorals defined and squared, his abdomen elevated and taut with strength. Though Carver was good with the shaving blade, he was sloppy with the water, which dripped in trails from Hawke’s neck and shoulders down past his chest, a few trickling past his belly button and even further down. Anders was blushing despite himself, and Hawke knew he was being admired. “Fine,” Anders sighed. “I see how it is.” He caught Hawke’s gaze right before passing his own across Hawke’s toned body once more, and Hawke winked at him. Anders folded his arms and looked away, blushing so hard his ears were turning red. “I heard you’ve been around the Gallows recently,” he said to Carver, desperate to change the subject.

Carver hesitated almost unnoticeably and then went back to his task. “Oh, how could you be so sure?” he asked incredulously, ignoring his brother’s worried gaze. “I can’t imagine you’d go to Templar central without my brother there to hold your hand.” Fenris leaned forward, too, waiting for an answer. Carver and Fenris had done a lot of teaming up on Hawke and Anders, recently, which was natural, they all supposed.

Unfortunately, Anders also happened to be an easy target. He was good at putting up defenses, however. “Is the Order everything you wished for?” he wondered, tilting his head. “Sacked any good mages lately?” Carver was annoyed and embarrassed, silently warning Anders to shut his mouth. Carver turned away, going back the shaving, scraping off the hair from his brother’s upper lip this time. Anders narrowed his eyes. “Oh, yes, look to your brother. No wonder you’re quiet.”

The blade, after being washed off, was free of black hair and dripping with cool beads of water. Carver sighed. “I have talked to the Templars there,” he admitted, then turned his eyes to the apostate. “They see you around, they know what you are.” If he was trying to scare Anders, it was probably working. He looked back to his brother. “For some reason, my brother cares for you. It’s the only reason you’re free.” He washed the blade again and then turned it to Anders, pointing at him with it. “Be thankful, understood? Or they’ll tie you up like the other apostates in town.”

Waiting until Carver turned back to his brother, Anders furrowed his brow, pretending to be more amused than afraid. “Oh, yes, ser,” he begged in a mocking tone. “Please, ser.” The caused Hawke to start laughing before he could control himself and stop for the blade’s sake.

Carver scoffed. “I hate you so much.” When Hawke started laughing even harder, Carver picked up the dry towel from the ground and put it over his face. “Done,” he said, and moved back, allowing Hawke to sit up and wipe his face dry of the water and shaving cream, hunched over so his abdominal muscles tightened just so.

Anders was looking at Hawke again, doing well to spite Carver even further. “You know, with the way you’re always insulting me, I almost feel like family.” He was delighted to hear another muffled laugh from Hawke, who was still hidden beneath the towel with which he was now drying his hair.

When Hawke pulled off the towel and looked at his hairless face in the mirror, he pursed his lips and squeezed his own cheeks, looking at his reflection from multiple different angles, furrowing his brow. “My face is cold,” he grumbled. “I don’t like it.” He’d been growing his beard out since they had left Lothering, and even though he kept it closely cropped, it seemed like a lot was missing. “It looks strange,” he whined. He always did this after being shaved, so Carver was used to it.

Carver laughed at his brother. “That’s your face,” he mocked. “The rest of us have to see it every day. How do you think we feel?” His childish humor didn’t impress Fenris but instead got a grin out of Anders, which Carver was not necessarily attempting to do.

When Hawke turned and stuck his tongue out at his brother, who snickered, Fenris raised an eyebrow at the new sight. “How old are you, actually? You look just like your brother,” he remarked. It was indeed an uncanny resemblance. They were related, after all. There were slight differences in stature, body type, and eye color – Hawke was green-eyed from their mother and Carver had blue eyes from their father. Carver had a squarer jaw and smaller eyes, and Hawke carried himself taller and had sharper teeth, but aside from that they looked almost identical. 

Though Carver secretly took this as a compliment, Hawke wasn’t going to let him get that gratification so easily. “That’s almost insulting,” Hawke remarked, grinning. From across the room Carver threw a red, linen shirt at him, hitting him in the face. Hawke pulled it over his head and got his arms through the proper holes. “Carver’s eighteen, I’m twenty,” he said, adjusting it down. It was Carver’s shirt, slightly too small for Hawke, and the folds tightened around the muscles of his arms and midsection, bunching at his waist.

Anders repeated, “Twenty!?” in an exasperated tone. As he looked over Hawke and saw just how well the shirt fit him, he turned his blushing face away, bringing a hand up to cover his smile. “Oh, Maker,” he laughed mildly. “I’m a cradle-robber.”

Admissions like this, coming from anyone, always made Hawke giddy with excitement, but coming from Anders, it seemed different somehow. Hawke’s heart started quickening in his chest. He looked at Anders, starry-eyed and grinning dumbly. “How old are you?” he wondered, as if it mattered.

Anders put his hand down and shook his head. “Please don’t ask that,” he begged, sighing. By the way he looked, he couldn’t have been any older than thirty-five, but the sleep he missed out on may have heightened that number. Still, the thought of Anders being a decade older than him excited Hawke, for some reason, and by his body language, Anders could tell.

At just about the perfect moment, Merrill opened the bedroom door and came into the room the boys were in. “Hawke, Carver,” she said sheepishly, turning over her shoulder and gesturing to the two cot-sized beds on either wall of the room, “I don’t mean to be rude, but your bedsheets smell, and if you want me to wash them I’d be more than happy to.” When she turned around, she saw Anders was there and smiled at him even though she didn’t like him much. “Oh! Hello, Anders.”

It was Isabela who waltzed in next, tossing her hair over her shoulder and paying no attention to Anders whatsoever. She went over to Hawke, putting a hand on his face and caressing it gently. “Hello there, Carver, I’m looking for Hawke.” Hawke laughed at the joke, which pleased her. “How about a kiss to test out those smooth cheeks of yours?” 

As Isabela turned to suggestively glance at Anders, who froze, petrified, Hawke narrowed his eyes and joked, “Which cheeks?” Not able to help himself, he snickered when Isabela became beside herself in laughter. Hawke gestured overhead to his brother. “Carver, come here and kiss my ass,” he called, completely unsurprised when Carver’s face twisted from across the room. The brothers laughed simultaneously.

Anders was surprised and visibly uncomfortable with the large number of people occupying such a small place. “Do all of your friends just squat in your house all day and do nothing?” It was statements like this that made Anders the least popular in the group among Hawke’s other friends.

Hawke shrugged. It had barely crossed his mind that everyone, save for Varric, was currently in his house. It was already so normal of an occurrence. “All of them except for you,” he clarified. “You’re always so busy at the clinic. But you’re welcome here any time.” Anders smiled warmly because he was delighted to be referred to as a friend. “Anyway, is there something you need? I assume you came here for a reason.” Hawke didn’t mean to put Anders on the spot, especially in front of everyone, but if he wanted privacy he assumed Anders would ask for it.

When Anders proved too slow to come up with something, Isabela answered for him, reaching over and putting a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “He probably wanted to catch you alone,” she said suggestively, winking at an annoyed Anders. “In that case, he would definitely be coming for a reason.” Hawke and Carver started to snicker despite themselves.

Flushed, Anders shrugged off her touch, sneering. “He wasn’t asking you,” he spat. She was busy laughing at his reaction, which was exactly what she wanted. Much to Anders’ dismay, Hawke, Carver and Merrill were laughing, too. Even Fenris was amused.


	4. Pale Light

The Chantry was not a place that the team frequently visited, for a long list of reasons. Anders, the most Andrastian of the group, could not visit the chantry alone because of the constant Templar threat that loomed around the building. Fenris, of course, had no reason whatsoever to visit. Hawke was not entirely sure if he believed in the Maker or not and tended to avoid the place because he felt out-of-place there. Still, the team managed to find themselves there one evening when waiting to turn in a bounty they had taken off the Chanter’s Board in front of the building.

It was unnaturally quiet inside of the Chantry, and the walls and floors were a constantly-clean shade of off-white. The statues of Andraste and the Maker were stoic and effectively intimidating, as were the clerics that stood post all around and the citizens who entered the building seeking solace or whatnot. Hawke hated everything about it. He was sitting in one of the uncomfortable wooden pews near the front of the Chantry, one leg crossed across his lap, his arms spread out along the back of the long bench. Anders was sitting in the pew behind him and slightly to the left. They had been waiting for fifteen minutes and were starting to get bored waiting for Fenris to find the Chantry brother, so they made conversation between themselves.

It took Anders so long to say something that Hawke had nearly forgotten he was even there. “I don’t know if this is the appropriate place to discuss this but…” He voice only trailed for a moment before he decided to finish saying what he started. “Justice wants to speak to you. He has for a while. He’s interested in you, and he’s… curious why you come across my mind so often.” He was obviously pressured to say this by the spirit within him.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “What, doesn’t he see the appeal?” Hawke had only spoken to Justice on one occasion, but was intrigued by him and saw no problem in having a conversation with him. “I wouldn’t mind if you indulged him,” he shrugged. “I suppose it would be practical that I become friends with him, too.” Hawke tended to separate Anders and Justice as two separate beings, while Anders was more inclined to see them as intertwined. Hawke was not sure who was more correct.

Anders nodded. He was receiving Justice’s thoughts, relating them as they came. “He appreciates that. Your practicality, I mean.” Anders’ voice hinted that he was smiling, but when he spoke next, it must have been gone. “But I’m not certain I should give him such free reign. I know what he thinks of you, but I’m worried that he might tell you something I wouldn’t want shared or say something that may upset you. He doesn’t understand the concept of privacy… or kindness.” There were a thousand different things Anders could have been referring to, but Hawke was courteous enough not to press for clarification.

As he listened to the mage speak, Hawke was picturing Justice, or at least how Anders looked when the spirit was present – blue-eyed with a voice dark and deep. “It’s your choice, I suppose. But I’m serious when I say I’d like to speak to him as well. I wouldn’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, however, and Justice shouldn’t, either.” He was not sure if Anders would want him commenting on how that relationship should work, but it seemed that he wasn’t getting any advice from other sources, so he prodded ever slightly. 

There was a long pause as Anders considered, but then he finally made a definite choice. “This is hardly the time or place,” he sighed, eyes scanning the Chantry again. “Perhaps some other day, when we’re alone in my clinic.” He hesitated again, thinking hard. “Allowing Justice to take control is not something I have ever attempted before, but in confidence and with you at my side, I would be willing to try it. For your sake, if not his.” This was a declaration of trust. A gentle one, but still a blatant one, and it would be even stronger when performed in deed.

The seat in the pew was growing more uncomfortable. There was not much leg room, but Hawke sunk down in his as much as possible and folded his arms, contentedly smiling to himself. “I’m excited,” he remarked. “Justice and I are going on our first date. How does he feel about that? I hope he knows I don’t kiss unless he pays for the meal.” 

Anders didn’t answer that remark. He was either annoyed by it or he just knew it was hypothetical, and the long silence that followed made Hawke worry that he had upset his friend, but when Anders broke it, it was clear that he was thinking of something else entirely. “You didn’t come to the Hanged Man last night,” he recalled, that simple statement made it clear that he missed Hawke. “Isabela was asking after you.” Hawke dreaded to think of what Anders was doing at the Hanged Man without him, given that the mage didn’t get along with anyone in the world except for Hawke himself. “I lost at cards again,” he added as an afterthought.

Smiling mildly to himself, Hawke turned his face slightly and spoke over his shoulder. “You always lose at cards,” he laughed. He turned back forward again. “I was with Fenris.” He paused after that and decided to clarify exactly what they were doing in case Anders was going to fill in the blanks and get upset again. “I let him know that he won’t be coming with us on the expedition.” This was the first time he was telling Anders this, too. “I want to bring Carver. I’m afraid he’ll be an asshole and join the Templars if I leave him alone for a few weeks.”

When Anders spoke, there was a clear smile brightening his voice. “Carver is big enough of an asshole to join the Templars right in front of your nose, so I understand your concern.” It was understandably something that concerned him as well. “Speaking of your brother, last night Varric was working on the chapter where the four of us saved that Dalish boy. It seems so long ago, now.” It had been over five months since the team first assembled, and time had passed far too quickly for Hawke’s liking.

Hawke smiled, remembering that evening quite fondly. “Varric is going to publish it once the expedition is over, right?” He turned forward again, shaking his head. “Still beats me why I’m the hero of the stupid thing. He should have written it about you.” He spoke in a whisper, though loud enough for Anders to still hear him.

Anders laughed softly, also keeping his voice in a whisper as if not to disturb the silence. “I can’t even begin to match your wit and charm, Hawke.” It wasn’t clear if he was being sarcastic because Hawke couldn’t see his face to know for sure.

Even though Hawke entirely expected the compliment, he deflected it. “You certainly have wit and charm,” he asserted, and of course Anders couldn’t question him. “And you’re the most fearless person I know. Your life is way more interesting than mine.” For once, Hawke was not meaning to sweet-talk him and was only telling the truth.

Letting out a long sigh, Anders turned his face away and said, “Oh, please.” He had been in a rather bad mood recently. He hadn’t snapped to Fenris at all since yesterday’s venture with the Qunari, but something was bringing his mood down considerably, and Hawke noticed. 

Hawke turned his head so he could see Anders’ face, but Anders wouldn’t look at him, only stared up at the white stone statue of the Maker that stood in the center of the building. “I’m serious,” Hawke stressed. Hawke could tell by Anders’ expression that he was upset in a way Hawke’s hadn’t seen him ever before, and cheering him up wasn’t working very well. “Would it feed your ego if I went through a list of all of the badass things you’ve ever done?” He stuck up fingers as he went through the list. “Becoming a Warden. Running a free clinic. Merging with Justice. Escaping the Circle.” He paused and looked to Anders with narrowed eyes. “Do I really need to go on?”

Anders’ hands were clasped on his lap. He thought about Hawke’s words for a moment. “I escaped the Circle because I was afraid,” he said quietly, still averting his eyes from Hawke. He wasn’t staring at the statue of the Maker. In fact, he wasn’t staring at anything in particular. He was just avoiding the eye contact, no matter how hard Hawke tried to make it.

The smile fell from Hawke’s face. He dealt with the signs his friend was displaying the best he knew how, sticking to the topic at hand. He put his hand down. “Maybe so,” he allowed, “But you also did it because you were brave. You did it time after time even though you knew the consequences.” It slightly puzzled him that Anders needed this explained.

Anders’ lips turned downwards into a frown, just slightly, but noticeably. “No, Hawke, you’re wrong,” he said after a moment. “I know that they’ll find me again. The Templars or the Wardens, whoever comes first. I’m not arrogant enough to doubt that.” He blinked and turned his eyes down. “And with you leaving, I don’t see any point.” He did not need to clarify exactly what he meant. His face twisted in a grimace, as if he were in pain. “Justice hates that. I can feel him hating me more and more every day.” This was physiological, it must have been, for the way he gripped at his own stomach. “I’m not brave, I’m afraid. And Justice hates me for it.”

Hawke studied Anders’ face. He could tell these feelings were not a result of what happened with Fenris, at least not entirely. He didn’t want to directly address the issue, in fear it would make the situation inflate and become worse. “No, you’re wrong,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even get me started on Justice. That was brave, too. I certainly wouldn’t be brave enough to do that.” Hawke hoped this didn’t imply that he feared the fade spirit, because he didn’t. “It’s okay that you’re scared. I bet he was scared, too, being trapped outside the Fade in a place he couldn’t understand. I bet he appreciated having a friend like you.” He could see Anders, or perhaps Justice, visibly relax upon being reminded of this. “You are brave. I know it. I’ve seen it.” A small smile crossed his face. “It’s one of the many reasons I like you so much.”

Anders’ voice was weak and despondent. “Hawke,” he started, in a timid whisper. It took almost too long, but Hawke finally realized the behavior Anders was displaying. Anders was depressed and trying to hide it. He might have been feeling that way for a long time but Hawke was just noticing it now. “How can someone be brave when he’s afraid?” He frankly refused eye contact now.

The question made a memory flash into Hawke’s mind quickly and suddenly. He half-smiled at the memory and kept himself turned forward. “I asked that exact question to my father the last time I saw him,” he recalled. He didn’t mean to change the subject entirely but knew the lesson would remain the same. “I was fourteen years old, about to leave with the Wardens. I was forced to go, I had no choice at all in the matter. My mother was crying, Bethany wouldn’t let go of me, Carver was angry, of course, he refused to say goodbye. Before the caravan left, it was just my father and I standing alone in our front yard. And when I told him I was scared, he corrected me, he said: no, you’re brave.” Hawke laughed at himself, shaking his head. “And that pissed me off. He didn’t understand, I thought. I thought I was going to die; I was scared shitless. He said, that is the only time a man can be brave.” Hawke hoped this would be a good enough answer for the mage. He also wondered if it would make Anders cry, and given the mood he was in now, he turned to a happier topic to prevent that from happening. “I hated him for a long time because of that. It’s taken me years to understand. I mean, the words were coming from an apostate mage who escaped the Circle, for the Maker’s sake. I didn’t think he knew what fear was.” Hawke paused, turning to look at the statue of the Maker to his left. “But he must have.” Hawke had a habit of giving little thought to the dead. He tended to avoid topics and memories that made him sad, but sometimes they were too hard to avoid. He frowned, turning away so that Anders couldn’t see. “I guess those were the last words he ever said to me.”

Silence followed, which Hawke was grateful for. He almost hoped that Anders wouldn’t continue the subject, but of course he did. “You don’t speak much of him, but he sounds like a good man,” Anders pointed out. He was right, of course, not that he could have known. Carver and Hawke very rarely brought up their past. “You don’t know how lucky you were,” the mage continued quietly, “To have someone who loved you and could help you. Most people would kill for that.”

Something in Hawke’s gut twisted and made him cringe with a dull ache, the pain rushing up to his heart and tightening his throat in impending sadness. He could feel his stomach sinking and his blood running colder. “You remind me of him,” he said. It came out like a whimper. He felt desperate, like he wanted to be touched or hugged, but at the same time he hoped and prayed that Anders would not respond.

Anders waited before responding. He waited for Hawke to say something, perhaps, or waited until he built up a presentable amount of confidence. “I’m lucky, too. I have someone who loves me. Someone who helps me.” It was yet another declaration of love, subtle again, but it meant the world to Hawke. Anders’ voice was getting weaker, more distant, as he tried unsuccessfully to hold back his emotions. “I’m going to miss you when you go. I hope you know that.”

Hawke shifted himself sideways, crouching slightly, so that half of his face was in the arm that remained resting on the back of the bench. He faced Anders, looking at him with sad eyes. An idea crossed his mind in an instant and slipped his mouth just as quick. “You should come with me. Back to Fereldan.” The idea came suddenly but he didn’t regret sharing it. He wanted badly for it to happen, and he hoped Anders did as well.

Finally, Anders met his eyes. There was a light in his eyes now, his black pupils and brown irises reflecting the sun shining in from the stained glass window. “You…” his voice was soft, cautious, his expression unsure. “You would want that?”

Hawke lowered his brow, slowly succumbing to a half-smile. “Want what?” he clarified, “You?” He paused for effect. “Yeah, I would.” Hawke could have left this unsaid but he knew it needed to be made clear. Anders relaxed, trying not to smile. Hawke sat up and turned around, facing the front of the Chantry again, sighing. “It’s just an idea, anyway. Think about it.”

Anders was quiet for a long time, perhaps considering the proposal or something else entirely. Fenris was still nowhere to be found. He had probably gotten lost in the chantry and was too embarrassed to ask for help. Undoubtedly someone would come to help him eventually, because he looked out-of-place, but Anders and Hawke had to wait until then. “I’m sorry about how I reacted to you and Fenris,” he said in a quieter voice than previously. “You had every right to be angry.”

Hawke closed his eyes for a moment. The apology came suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, but he was glad Anders was apologizing. Hawke certainly was not going to apologize for what he did with Fenris, because he wasn’t sorry about it, but he was happy to hear these words from Anders’ mouth. “I’m not upset anymore,” he answered calmly. “It’s okay.”

The mage let out a noise that might have been a laugh. “It’s not, but you always say it is. Always.” He leaned forward in his seat, Hawke could hear his robes shifting. “Why do you always forgive me? Why do you always come back?” His voice was close now, so close that Hawke could feel Anders’ breath against his ear. “No jokes, Hawke.”

Hawke paused. He wondered just how close Anders was but didn’t dare to turn. He kept his voice quiet as well. “It’s growing increasingly difficult to stay away,” he admitted, because they were the only words that came to mind and he figured they served as at least a fragment of an explanation.

Anders paused for half a heartbeat before chiming in, “I know how you feel.” He came even closer, sitting hunched over in his seat. He put his head over the back of the pew, his face close to Hawke’s arm. “I want you to know something, Hawke.” His voice was louder and closer but remained essentially soft. “Something about me.”

Hawke remained perfectly still. Anders was so close. He could feel his body heat but did not relax against it, just remained calm and composed and faced forward, knowing whatever Anders was going to say would be important. “This is, after all, the best place to confess,” he shrugged.

Anders took a breath, and then confessed. “I’ve been afraid ever since I can remember,” he started. When Hawke turned his face to see him, he didn’t meet his eyes. “I might not act like it, but I am. I’m afraid of the Circle. I’m afraid of being made Tranquil. I’m afraid of the Templars. They’ve… hurt me in the past.” He passed up on continuing on this matter. “I use the fear to drive me, it’s what led me to do those things like escaping all those times and joining the Wardens. But fear is a poison in the blood, as much as the Blight is. I thought Justice would make it easier but he…” he sighed faintly, his breath inaudible. “He’s the same way, except… I’m not sure if he’s corrupting me or if I’m corrupting him.”

Yet again, Anders was refusing eye contact. Hawke felt grateful to hear these things in such confidence but didn’t want to see his friend distressed. “You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to,” he offered kindly.

Sunshine was pouring in the window. The clouds must have shifted outside. The light made Anders glow like something divine. “I don’t want to avoid this any longer,” he clarified, and he voice showed that he was sure of himself. He paused to breathe, lightly. “I run. That’s what I do. Run from the Circle, from the Templars, from the Wardens. And now I’m running from you.” Anders parted his lips and exhaled, a pained expression twisting his face. “Part of it is Justice. Most of it is me. But it is growing impossible, because I…” He swallowed hard, holding back. “I care for you. A lot. I wish I could… let you know how important you are to me, but I just don’t know how to say it.” 

Inside, Hawke could think of a long list of ways Anders could show this. In an attempt to make his friend feel better, he made yet another joke. “Well, Anders,” he smiled reassuringly, “If you want to kiss me, you sure picked the absolute worst place to do it.” The Chantry was no place for intimacy, because with the Maker leering over with you, privacy was impossible.

Miraculously, Anders did laugh, quietly, his cheeks flushing at the mere idea of it. “I did, didn’t I?” His smile started falling. “Anyway, that isn’t what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that…” he paused, just for a second, as he turned his head so his cheek was pressed against Hawke’s shoulder. “I’ve never been safe or secure, I’m always hunted, hated. I have to be on constant guard, watching my back, making sure I’m not killed or… worse.” His voice was weakening, almost breaking. “You are the one shining light in Kirkwall, Hawke. I’ve always feared being made Tranquil.” He swallowed aching tears down, holding his breath to prevent himself from crying. “Now more than ever.” He turned further, nuzzling Hawke’s shoulder closer, their touch growing warmer. 

It sounded like Anders was verging tears, and that alarmed Hawke. He liked the feeling of Anders’ face pressing against him and held still. “Anders…” he started, but then said nothing. He wanted to ease his friend, to stabilize him, to make him feel better any way he could. Saying his name was a good start to calm the both of them.

“Hawke…” The mage struggled to keep his voice strong as it just kept getting softer. “When I’m with you, I’m not afraid. When I’m with you, I feel safe, for the first time in my entire life. Being with you puts an indescribable feeling in my heart.” Anders turned his head even further, pressing up against Hawke with more pressure. “I want to thank you for making me feel this way.” 

Now Anders did look at him. Hawke turned his face and kept his lips parted, holding his breath. Their faces were almost level because they were both sunk down towards the ground, and they felt like they were alone in the building, silence surrounding them, heat bringing them closer, and then closer, unconsciously, and Anders leaned forward, and their lips almost met, almost pressed together, almost touched.


	5. Oversight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's an idiot and Anders likes him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally posted these out of order... whoops. Friendly reminder that you can talk to me about my Hawke [here](http://zackwolfknight.tumblr.com/)! :) Thanks for reading!

When Hawke finally made it back to Anders’ clinic, he was met with nothing less than a hurricane. “Hawke! You _idiot_!” Anders accused at the first sight of him, storming over with eyes full of rage. “Stupid, stupid idiot, damn fool, idiot!” Alarmed, the few refugees hanging around the clinic made their ways out as fast as they could, sneaking past Hawke and out the front door.

Chuckling to himself, Hawke walked in proudly, still wearing Anders’ heavy green and gold robes. He looked foolish in them, truly, but he kept them on for full effect. “Funny,” he remarked with a raised eyebrow, “That’s what the Templars were calling me when they were kicking me in the head.” He had hoped to amuse Anders, but obviously he was having no luck.

Anders stormed over. Without his robes on, he was only in a long-sleeved, thin-fabric shirt that fit his figure perfectly. He was rather slender, nearly as muscular as Hawke. He had skinny arms and slim hips and was probably not as intimidating as he wanted to be. As he made his way across the empty clinic, he shouted out, waving his arms around in hysterics. “That was singlehandedly the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do! Do you have any idea what could have happened? So many things could have gone wrong!”

Still amused, Hawke stood still and waited for Anders to come to him. “I already admitted before I did it that it was a stupid idea. But nothing went wrong.” He held a hand out, gesturing to himself, and then to Anders. “Here I am. And here you are.” The smile on his face just could not go away. Seeing the anger in Anders’ eyes entertained him to no end. “You can kiss me now, if you want,” he suggested nonchalantly.

Baring teeth in a scowl, Anders stuck a finger in Hawke’s chest. “Don’t act smug. You could have gotten yourself killed! What you did is a hanging offense!” He put his hand down but kept glaring into Hawke’s eyes. They were of equal height, but Anders was generally smaller overall. His scolding would not cease. “The Templars are not to be messed with. You cheated them and were lucky to escape with your life.” He shook his head. “I thought you were smarter than that,” he accused. “I’m disappointed in you.” This was almost worse than him being angry.

Hawke wasn’t smiling any longer. Anders was truly mad at him, and even though he liked to provoke guilt often, this time it was actually working. Hawke could feel his stomach muscles tightening. “You know what was running through my mind when I stood to face them in your stead?” he asked rhetorically in a steady voice. “I was picturing what would happen when I got released. How you would thank me. And call me your hero.” He averted his eyes for a moment. “I guess it was too much to hope for.” He was not trying to guilt trip Anders, but something inside of him hoped that Anders would apologize.

He didn’t. “Fuck you, Hawke.” Anders spat his words like fire. “I was so scared. I couldn’t sleep. I was sick to my stomach.” There was worry in his eyes, but not in his voice. 

Now, Hawke was starting to feel irritated. He didn’t deserve to be spoken to like this; he was the one who suffered. He glared at Anders. “Oh, well in that case, I am devastated that my heroic actions have caused you so much stress and pain.” His sarcasm did well to mask his blatant anger.

Always emotional, Anders folded his arms. He was not fazed by Hawke’s attempt to scold him. “You self-righteous ass,” he accused. “You don’t have the right to defend me. I can defend myself. I’m a grown man and I do not need you playing the hero. I don’t need you at all. I never did.” The worst thing about this, by far, was that it was Anders speaking, not Justice. 

All anger left Hawke in an instant. The guilt was back, and then it was stacked with fear, and sadness, and sorrow. Hawke felt like he had been punched. His lips parted and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he said dumbly. “I thought…” He didn’t know what he thought. At the moment, he couldn’t think anything.

Before Hawke could even finish, Anders answered him. “You thought wrong.” He averted his angry eyes from Hawke and stared at the floor. “Get out of my clinic,” he ordered.

There was a moment of hesitation where Hawke could not move, let alone leave. This seemed like the end to him. But he turned around anyway, because he was ordered to, and started walking towards the door. It was always so easy for him to follow orders. Following orders usually made him feel better, but this time it didn’t. He just then remembered that he was still wearing Anders’ robes, and wondered if he should take them off, but they were so warm and they smelled like Anders and Hawke just did not have the strength to remove them. He reached the door and hesitated before pushing it open. He stood silent for a short moment, frowning. “I’m sorry,” he said one final time, hoping it would make any difference at all.

“Stop.” Anders’ voice was quiet, so quiet that Hawke thought he might have been imagining the words and continued, proceeding to push the door open. Then Anders repeated himself again, louder. “Stop. Don’t leave. I…” His voice was the only sound for what seemed like miles. Even outside the door, Darktown was uncharacteristically quiet. “Hawke, don’t leave.”

By no means was Hawke in the mood to be yelled at any further, but Anders’ voice no longer sounded angry. He sounded sad and genuine. Hawke stopped in his tracks but stayed back face. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Anders,” he said again, because it was different than saying sorry, and maybe it would serve as an acceptable apology and Anders would forgive him.

When Hawke let the door close and turned around, he saw that Anders had turned as well, to face the opposite wall. His head was lowered, he was staring at the floor. His shoulders were slumped slightly. “I’m not mad,” he clarified. “I’m… in awe. Dumbfounded. Astounded.” He shook his head, and blonde locks of long hair straying from his tie fell from his ponytail and into his face. “I can’t believe you did that. You put your life on the line for me? Maker, I’ve never…” Anders put a hand up to his face for a second, then shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a fool,” he scolded himself.

Hawke made his way back slowly, ready at any moment for Anders to send him away again. As he grew closer, he saw Anders’ subtle body movements, the way his shoulders shook slightly, his quiet sniffling, the motion of his hand wiping at his nose. “Anders?” Hawke asked as he peeked over the mage’s shoulder. He could see Anders’ eyes were reddened and wet with oncoming tears. Startled, Hawke stepped back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you…”

Anders cowered away, shying his face away from Hawke. “Don’t look at me. Don’t…” His tense muscles relaxed and he took a breath. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I am being… ungrateful.” After a moment, he turned his head, looking Hawke in the eyes. His eyes were glossy with tears, welling up with wetness, threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m sorry, Hawke. I don’t mean to yell. I’m just so…” He frowned. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Frozen in place, Hawke was not sure what exactly to do. He was worried that he would make the wrong move and be yelled at again. He sighed lightly, looking at Anders with as much sympathy as he could. “If you hold it in, you’ll feel worse.” He held his arms out. “Come here,” he offered gently.

After hesitating for a second to stare at Hawke’s open arms, Anders stepped into them, wrapping Hawke in a hug and lying his head on Hawke’s shoulder, face turned away so he could not be looked at. “Thank you, Hawke,” he whispered. His throat was tight and his voice weak. His shoulders started to shake as he fought off the tears. “You saved me. That was the bravest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Truly, he didn’t need to say more than this, not as if he could have.

As much as he should have been enjoying holding Anders in his arms, Hawke felt a distant guilt that came with the scent of Anders’ tears. “You’re my friend. You needed me and I was there. It wasn’t a difficult choice to make.” He was trying to be reassuring, but he was not sure if that was possible. He felt a desperate need to bring a hand to Anders’ hair, to touch it, to feel if it were as soft as he’d imagined it to be, but he stilled his hand.

Hearing this made Anders hold Hawke tighter. “You must not understand,” he said as he sniffled, “A man like you, risking everything for an apostate mage, baring your neck to the Templars, openly speaking out against them... Not to mention, doing it for me.” He was quiet for a long moment. He tried taking a deep breath but he was too shaky and his chest only fluttered, pressed up against Hawke’s. Anders shook his head, nuzzling his nose into the feathered pauldrons of Hawke’s shoulders. “Never in my wildest dreams would I think someone would sacrifice their life for me in that manner. It was noble and brave, not stupid.” Anders rested his cheek on Hawke for a moment longer, just in silence, before straightening himself and stepping back. Rubbing shamefully at his wet eyes, he looked Hawke in the face. “I am eternally, unequivocally grateful.”

Hawke wanted to smile, but he could not find the heart to. “Then what’s making you sad? If you tell me, I could help make it better.” As endearing as it was to see Anders bearing his heart in such an emotional way, Hawke knew Anders was embarrassed by the situation at hand.

Anders paused to consider, then furrowed his brow. “I’m sad because…” He looked at his feet, and then back to Hawke. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve your life. I’m not good enough.” His jaw set again, as if he were going to scold Hawke again, but this time he was scolding himself. “What have I ever done for you besides shout and ridicule you? I get angry, I act selfish… I’m horrible to you, time and time again. I am an awful friend, yet you stick by me.” He shook his head at his own behavior more than he did at Hawke’s. “How is it that I can inspire such loyalty? First Warden-Commander Cousland, now you. It doesn’t make sense.”

As there was no use in trying to make Anders feel better for his often immature actions, Hawke took the initiative to explain the point he had hoped he did not have to say aloud. “I didn’t take the fall for you because I’m an idiot, not entirely,” he clarified. “I did it because you are worth saving. The Warden-Commander must have thought so, too.”

The tension setting Anders’ demeanor into agitation flushed out, as did some of the color in his cheeks. “Thank you,” he muttered stupidly, shocked beyond cognition. He stared in disbelief for a moment before saying again, “Thank you, Hawke.” Hawke was not entirely sure what he was being thanked for in this regard, but he decided to let it pass. Anders’ tear-filled eyes, fixated upon Hawke’s, started to travel downwards until they noticed something splattered upon the off-white feathered pauldrons of the mage’s robes. “Is that… blood?” He reached out and touched the dried mess, brow knit in concern. He sniffled again, his tears still keeping a hold on his emotions.

Hawke had forgotten about the blood. “Don’t worry,” he rushed, “It’s mine.” When Anders gave him a look of alarm, Hawke elected instead to smile timidly. “Sorry I ruined your coat.” 

That distant but constant anger returned to Anders’ eyes. “They hurt you, didn’t they?” He knew the Templars well enough to know the answer to that question, so he didn’t bother waiting for a response. He did a quick look-over of Hawke, eyes flicking up and down, surveying Hawke’s physical state. “Do you need healing?” he asked, his voice filled up with concern.

Strangely, it took this for Hawke to feel comfortable again. He smiled sheepishly. “Can you heal minor concussions? And bruised ribs?” His mock apprehension faded when he saw Anders summon radiant blue light into his hands, filling the room with a humming glow. The magic gave off a barely noticeable heat and warmed up the places on Hawke’s body that were injured in any way. “Oh,” Hawke breathed, “That feels good.” Though Anders was looking down at his own hands, Hawke was looking into his eyes, where he could see the reflection of the blue light shimmering off. Smitten, Hawke grinned again. “You’re a miracle worker, sent by Andraste herself.”

This caused Anders to smile. “Hardly.” The glow of the magic lit up his face and Hawke’s, too. “Do you feel alright?” He looked Hawke over again, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

Hawke was still smiling. “Never felt better. I am in so much debt to you now. Soon I’ll be over my head.” He looked down in time to watch Anders retract the healing spell. Blue light left the room, and somehow the clinic seemed darker than usual. “What would I do without you?” Hawke looked back at Anders’ smiling face with a grin of his own. 

Although they were still shining with tears and red on their edges, Anders’ eyes were atypically bright and happy. “Die, probably,” he shrugged. His voice went serious again. “Thank you, Hawke.” he repeated, genuine and true. “How can I repay you for this? How can I… give you my thanks?”

Hawke opened his mouth but could not find any appropriate words at all and just paused. After considering for a moment, a thought crossed his mind, and he raised an eyebrow, pointing a finger at Anders. “Hey, we’re almost square now. You saved my life a few times, now I saved yours.”

Anders was smiling again, finally managing to ease up and slow the constant flow of tears, then he started to laugh, remembering all of the words Hawke said when being captured. “I must say, you do an excellent impression of me. I never knew you had such fine acting talent.” 

Hawke put his hands behind his back and bowed. “Thank you, Ser,” he said, holding position before straightening again. “But the credit is better due to my muse. A man could ask for no better creative inspiration.” When Anders smiled at him in that moment, Hawke in a flash remembered that moment they had shared in the Chantry, but he pushed it to the back of his mind just as fast as it came to light.

Bringing up a hand to wipe his running nose, Anders kept his joy-filled eyes upon Hawke. “It is always a joy to watch you work,” he began in his suggestive, soft tone, “But you seemed to be exceptionally fetching when telling off the Templars like that. It greatly pleased me to watch you stand up to them.”

Though Hawke himself flirted rather well and quite often, he was not used to being flirted with, at least not by people he actually liked. Nonetheless, he loved it, and Anders, surprisingly, was rather good at it. Hawke was not sure if he was amused or smitten by the flirting, perhaps both. He laughed nonetheless, feeling his cheeks flush slightly despite himself, raising a hand up to his mouth to cover it as he smiled and blushed and glanced away, looking over his shoulder for effect. “We’re spending so much time together. People will start to talk,” he said suggestively, winking for good measure. This somehow got another laugh out of Anders, who reached a hand up and pawed at his own wet, brown eyes again. Hawke was still enamored. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

After thinking about his answer to the question, Anders shook his head, gently at first, and then harder. Emotional pain took at his stomach, and he couldn’t stand to look at Hawke any longer. He bit his lip and tried to stay coherent, forcing his eyes open. “No,” he asserted. “The Deep Roads expedition is nearly funded.” This was a good thing, of course, and Anders knew he had to clarify. He turned to Hawke, forcing words out that were difficult for him to say. “I don’t want you to go.”

Not grasping the deeper meaning of Anders’ statement, Hawke only thought to softly smile and console him. “I know you hate the Deep Roads, but you’ll be coming with on the expedition. We won’t be gone for very long.”

Shaking his head yet again, Anders folded his arms, hugging himself. “No, Hawke. _Kirkwall_. I don’t want you to leave _Kirkwall_.” After a moment, he laughed at himself, though he was obviously still sad. “Now that you’re in my life, it occurs to me that I don’t want you to be absent from it. You’ve been…” He swallowed and tried hard to make his smile genuine. “Very good to me. I don’t want you to leave.” Tears were flowing out his eyes now. His smile vanished. “Please don’t leave, Hawke.”

Remarkably, none of this had ever occurred to Hawke before, and he just stood in place, mouth agape, feeling sick. “Oh,” he said dumbly, “I…” He was too awestruck to come up with words fast enough to Anders’ liking, and Hawke’s heart sunk as he watched Anders turn and cower away again. “I don’t want to leave,” he managed to admit, even though he knew he shouldn’t have. Truly, he didn’t want to discuss this any longer because it only made him sad. Then he remembered a conversation they had previously. “Have you thought about what I said in the Chantry? Because that deal still stands.” He hoped this would make Anders feel better, regardless of the answer.

Anders’ eyes went from fearful to soft and adoring. He looked at Hawke with those big, brown eyes and Hawke’s heart warmed up in his chest as if it were exposed to direct sunlight. “You still would want that? Really?” A smile flashed onto his face. He kept his arms folded, now just to support himself from caving in with joy. “I have thought about it,” he admitted, trying not to give any notion just how much he had thought of the two of them together, which was probably a lot.

No matter what Anders’ decision was, Hawke would be happy for him, of course, but he still found himself anxious to hear his choice. “And?” he urged, tilting his head slightly. 

The look Anders was giving Hawke was one Hawke had never in his life seen before. It was such an extreme display of trust and adoration that there were no words to accurately describe it. The tone of his voice was just as vulnerable as his expression and body language. “ _Yes_. I would love to be with you, Hawke,” he said, and then a flash of blue rush past his eyes as he only lit up in a brighter smile. It seemed that both he and Justice were sharing this feeling of zealous joy, and since the fade spirit only showed himself during times of intense emotion, it was not surprising to catch a glimpse of him now. Anders was still crying, but now it wasn’t from sadness. He brought a hand up to his mouth and caught a laugh behind it, turning away from Hawke as his cheeks flushed. “Maker, I’m sorry,” he laughed, then wiped his happy, warm tears way.

Simply, Hawke adored every single inch of him and wanted to spill all of his feelings to the floor so Anders knew all of them, but he held his tongue. “We can talk more about this later,” he suggested, “when you’re coherent.” Anders smiled at that, which fulfilled Hawke’s only goal at the moment. “Right now, I’m concerned about you. Aside from liking me too much for your own good, are you okay?” he asked again.

A brief nod accompanied a final sniffle. “Yes, I am, and I owe it all to you. I mean that, Hawke.” Knowing that Hawke was too enamored to come up with a witty reply, Anders seemed beside himself and looked at him for a long moment before letting the topic pass. “Don’t tell Varric about any of this,” he begged through a trying smile. “Or Carver. Or Fenris.” The last name was spoken with such mock dread that Hawke started laughing again.

A familiar voice came from the doorway behind Hawke. “Fenris heard the whole thing.” The door creaked open the rest of the way and in walked Fenris, dour as ever, entering the room and adding a significant coldness to the air. “I was in the Gallows. Who do you think brought this to the attention of the Knight-Captain?” He walked forward and looked at Hawke, paying no mind to Anders’ running nose and wet eyes. He leered at Hawke crossly. “I was looking out for you. You are stupidly brave. It’s one of your best qualities.” He folded his arms and looked up at Hawke with what reminded him of a mother’s disappointment.

Hawke was not expecting a compliment, and he never took them well, so he made a joke instead. “To be fair, I did this in part to wear his clothes.” Hawke gestured down to the robes, heavy, warm, and green, fitting him snugly and buckled up tight. “They look great on me. Not to mention, they smell like him.” He looked at Anders, smiling to himself. “I think I’ll keep them on a little longer.”

Anders laughed mildly, wiping the last of the tears out of his eyes. “Are you trying to cheer me up?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He took his hand down and gave Hawke a sideways grin. “It’s working,” he admitted. “Now, take off your clothes.” It was apparent that Anders knew he had made a mistake saying those words as soon as he said them, but it was too late. 

Unable to hold back a grin, Hawke gestured to Fenris. “You too, Fenris. Join the fun.” Hawke shrugged the robes off his shoulders after unbuckling them, then piled them into a heap in his arms. He looked back to Anders, grinning wide. “I didn’t know my reward would come this soon.” 

Fenris scoffed. “Oh, you impossible man.” He turned and started leaving, knowing Hawke would soon follow him.

Taking the robes out of Hawke’s arms, Anders looked at him with an amused grin and shook his head slowly. “I should have seen that coming,” he admitted. There was an instant where the both of them were holding Anders’ clothes at once and their hands were touching, just for a brief moment. This made their hearts surge faster, somehow, than during the hug, possibly because it was discreet, hidden beneath cloth, or perhaps it was the blood and the tears that made this later moment so much more special.


	6. Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke smells but Anders _still_ likes him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

The time passed quickly as the team waded endlessly through the Deep Roads, avoiding Darkspawn whenever they could and filling the days with conversation. They had spent a lot of time walking, a lot of time fighting Darkspawn, and a lot of time stuffing their backpacks with as much gold as they could stumble upon. They had amassed quite a large amount, breaking even long ago, so it seemed that, despite everything, their expedition was successful. They camped nightly to maintain their strength and ran their food thin. To sleep, Anders set up wards to make sure they weren’t awaken rudely by Darkspawn, and then they slept in a pile together in their tent. Hawke slept between his two teammates of course; Anders would drape an arm across Hawke’s torso, press his body against Hawke’s, and rest his cheek against his chest, and Hawke would turn towards Fenris and hold the elf in his grasp as Fenris curled up against him, sharing body heat. 

Even though Bartrand had taken the maps with him during his betrayal, weeks of admittedly aimless walking around led them to an eventual exit. There were patterns to be found in the stone. Anders’ Grey Warden abilities paid off, as they came to the conclusion that less Darkspawn taint correlated to a place nearer to the surface, and before they knew it they saw daylight. There was a collective exhale of relief that passed the group when they saw that exit. They seemed to have gone in a large circle, the exit coming out on the Wounded Coast, about a mile from where their original entrance was located. 

They were silent for a long moment before Varric paused, put his hands on his hips, and sighed. “Finally. Two weeks of walking through the dust pays off.” They walked together until they stepped outside. Fresh air filled their lungs and the entire team breathed deeply. “Here it is – the light of day. And our shining city.” Kirkwall was on the horizon, not far at all. The docks to the Gallows were down a hill, and as the sun was setting, there were not many sailors tending the area. Varric laughed to himself, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “What are the chances Bartrand came back? You think we could get lucky?”

An immediate answer came to Fenris, who walked ahead of them, looking out at the horizon. “Luck hasn’t been on our side as of late,” he said in his low voice. It had been three weeks since any of them had bathed, and Fenris’ once-white hair was now a grimy grey. 

Varric looked over at Fenris, then to Anders, then to Hawke. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, sighing, shoulders heaving. “I should have known Bartrand would betray us. I should have seen it coming.” He shook his head, looking across the bay at the city again.

As he watched the sun set, Hawke figured he must have taken the daylight for granted. He had also taken clean water for granted. Hawke, by far, smelled the worst out of all of them, and everyone was too polite to say anything, except for Fenris, who stood far away from Hawke during all times but battle. Now, Fenris stood at the edge of the cliffs, breathing in the sea air, his hair gently tossing across his face. Hawke watched him, now, but answered Varric. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, starting to feel sad.

Reaching a hand around his back, Varric patted his heavy backpack with a stiff fist. “At least we didn’t make it out of this completely screwed over.” He gestured to Hawke. “You’re a rich man now, Hawke. What do you plan on doing?” He knew better than to ask Anders or Fenris, who were exceptions to the general rule of money buying happiness, as it seemed.

It occurred to Hawke that he hadn’t put any thought whatsoever into what he was going to do with the money they had gathered. “I’ll have to talk to Carver about it,” he figured. Memories came back to him of their last conversation. He had been trying to repress those memories during the journey, but he had to face them now. He winced. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled that I made it out alive.”

Varric too hadn’t brought up the fight. He knew that the best way to make Hawke feel better when he was sad was to ignore the situation at hand altogether. Still, he knew now was the time to face the music. He slapped a hand on Hawke’s forearm, looking up at him with his neck craned. “He’s your brother, Hawke, he doesn’t hate you. He’s stubborn, but he still loves you.” He took his hand away, looking towards the docks. “I’m going home to clean up. Maker forbid I’m no longer the only male dwarf in the world without a beard.” He looked back to Hawke again, half-smiling. “Even though this expedition is over, I hope we can still be business partners, if not friends.” He gestured a wave over his back as he started to walk away. “Keep hanging in there, okay, Hawke? If you need me, come find me. You know where I’ll be.” His small figure grew smaller as he made his way down the hill and to the docks, taking a sovereign out of his pocket to surely brighten the day of the sailor who was to transport him across the bay.

Fenris was still backface, standing with his legs shoulder-width apart. “I should take his boat, for convenience purposes.” He turned his face a touch, so his eyes could be seen leering over his shoulders just slightly. “I hope to see you again, Hawke,” he said, voice breaking noticeably, and then left before he could succumb to any emotion that was surely threatening to soften him into a display of weakness. Obviously he was not one for goodbyes. 

Then it was just Hawke and Anders standing at the cliffs. Hawke was glad to have Anders come with on the expedition, even though it obviously took a lot out of him. As a result of not shaving for almost a month, his stubble had grown out into a short, blonde beard. His eyes were always dark and heavy with sleeplessness, but now they seemed miserably worse. Still, he smiled at Hawke as genuinely as he could muster, and asked him sincerely, “Are you alright?”

Hawke couldn’t smile back, so he looked away. “No, not really,” he sighed. “No wounds you can heal, at least.” He was thinking about Carver and Bartrand and Kirkwall all at once, and he was starting to feel worse. Before Hawke could even react, Anders stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. He hugged Hawke very tightly, squeezing his ribcage as if trying to relieve pressure, pressing his chest against Hawke’s and resting his cheek against his shoulder. Hawke couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, but then he relaxed, hugging Anders back, feeling relieved and happy just by touching him and being touched. He closed his eyes, turning his head so his nose was in Anders’ hair, the dirty, blonde locks tickling his nose. There was a sharp friction as the prickly hairs of their beards brushed against each other. “Thank you,” Hawke said after a moment, then held his breath again, hoping it would stop time.

It took a long time for Anders to pull himself away. They had to pry themselves off of each other as if there was an unseen force tying them together. He kept his hands on Hawke’s arms, fingers curling around his biceps. “Is this done, then?” he asked, looking into Hawke’s eyes, a misplaced sadness in his own. “Are you going back to Fereldan?” His lips trembled for a moment, then twisted into a frown. He was trying to fight the urge to beg Hawke to stay, and Hawke knew it.

This was another thing Hawke had not thought about during the trip. He wondered if this was what had been making Anders so reserved during the expedition. With Carver enlisted as a Templar and Hawke sitting on enough money to buy their own place in Hightown, Hawke could no longer think of any good reason to leave. Seeing Anders so sad only made Hawke feel worse, so Hawke smiled at him, hoping the grin would be infectious. “And leave my trusty healer mage?” he asked in a joking tone. “What would I do without you? I’d cry myself to sleep at night and probably die young from some minor infection.” He was only half-joking when he said this.

Anders softened immediately. There was still an undiscernible sadness left in his eyes but it was overwhelmed by a rush of happiness. He smiled right back at Hawke. “I’m glad you’re staying,” he made clear, as if the love in his eyes wasn’t plainly obvious. “Very, truly glad.”

Hawke’s heart felt light in his chest now, and he wanted desperately to touch Anders back but refrained. “Did you have a speech planned out if I decided to leave?” he wondered, furrowing his brow slightly. “If so, I’d still like to hear it.”

The brightness that came into Anders’ eyes when he narrowed them was specific to when he was flirting. “It involved me using a myriad of creative ways to try and convince you to say,” he said in a voice soft and seductively suggestive.

“Oh?” Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow and parting his lips to smile. “Then I’d really like to hear it.” Anders turned his face away to laugh, and Hawke watched him for a moment before glancing to the sunset, which was just as bright and beautiful. “This is so romantic,” he remarked, then regretted it, and tried to make a joke of it. He looked to Anders, who was trying hard to hold back a smile. Hawke grimaced. “Could you… you know, hug me again? I don’t mean to be promiscuous or anything.”

Anders didn’t hesitate before pulling him close again, reveling in the touch and warmth as their hearts beat against each other. He exhaled and a hardly noticeable whimper came out with it. He was holding something back, something that was hurting him, but all he said was, “Don’t ever leave, Hawke.” It came out in a weak whisper. He turned his head so his nose was buried in the crook of Hawke’s neck. “I need you, too,” he whispered into his ear, an assurance, a promise bond. 

Hawke felt like crying but instead he closed his eyes and smiled, smelling Anders’ hair, pressing his cheek against the fluffy white feathers of Anders’ robes. “This is fostering co-dependency,” he laughed, quietly, as if whispering.

Hands shaking slightly, Anders pulled back from Hawke’s grasp and moved his frowning lips to Hawke’s cheek, planting a kiss there, a sweet and long one. His lips were warm and dry as they pressed against the skin of Hawke’s face, right above the black line of his beard, and Anders’ own facial hair was prickly and sharp when he pressed it against him. He pulled his lips away, took a slow, calm breath, and then whispered back, “Good.”


	7. Time Wasted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes hat shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cute fluffy stuff. So, "you're welcome" or "I'm sorry" depending on whether you're a saint or sinner.

A large portion of Lowtown was comprised of the market district, where the team of Anders, Isabela, and Merrill joined Hawke to browse the merchant’s wares and find anything half-decent to use. Items here in Lowtown were cheap but often made the same way, while items in Hightown were well-made but ridiculously expensive. Varric did well to hook the team up with new gear because of his connections in the dwarven Merchant’s Guild, but browsing the shops was enjoyable on its own, and it made for a good distraction. 

Fenris had not shown up in almost two days. He was not in his mansion or in the Hanged Man, and as concerned as Hawke was for him, he knew that the elf needed space. Anders, of course, did not seem concerned in the slightest. Hawke wanted to search for him to make sure Fenris was fine, but of course Fenris could take care of himself and would return when he was ready. A part of Hawke almost hoped he would not return and instead move on to better places than the shithole that was Kirkwall. Nonetheless, Hawke was not inclined to take any big jobs without the entire team present, so they stuck to well-deserved leisure time. 

Being anywhere with Anders was beyond relaxing for Hawke. There were brief moments in the daylight where Anders was relaxed and smiling contentedly and inhaling the morning breeze, and Hawke would watch him do this as long as he could before Anders would notice. Here in the marketplace, Anders had no interest in purchasing anything, even if Hawke offered to buy it for him. He was far from materialistic. Hawke took pride in his looks and attire but Anders did not see the need, even though he appreciated Hawke’s appearance in other ways.

The market was mildly crowded this afternoon. All around the square, voices and conversations could be heard, everyone speaking over each other. Merrill and Isabela were looking through the feathered caps while Hawke was watching the women try them on. Merrill put a big, floppy one on her head, so large that it covered her eyes and ears. From beneath it, she whispered, “I think Anders likes you, Hawke.”

Hawke reached a hand up and pulled the flap of the twine brim away from her face, smiling down at her. “Interesting theory. But I’m not convinced.” It didn’t bother him that his friends discussed their relationship, but it seemingly bothered Anders quite a bit. The team knew to keep it quiet.

Isabela, who had an auburn leather pirate’s cap on her head complete with a dyed red feather at the top, chimed in, laughing to herself. “Oh, Hawke, of course he likes you. You’re likeable.” She cocked a hip, taking a glance at herself in the mirror nailed up against the post of the stall. “Not to mention, Anders hasn’t been touched by anyone but himself in years, and you’re the first person to speak to him for more than thirty seconds without committing suicide.”

Anders, who at first seemed to be standing out of earshot at a jewelry stall further down the line, called out to them, “I can hear you, you know.” When Hawke made eye contact at him and winked, Anders looked away again, smiling to himself.

Merrill was more interested in her friends being emotionally content than sexually satisfied. No matter that she didn’t like Anders very much, she was understandably inclined to bring him and Hawke together because it would please them both. Also, she found romances exciting and heartwarming. “Well, Hawke,” she said, almost whispering, taking off her hat and putting it back on the rack. “He looks at you all the time, then gets embarrassed and pretends like he’s busy with something else. You should ask him out.”

Hawke watched Anders from down the way, amused as the mage pretended like he was not listening. “Out?” Hawke repeated, feigning confusion. “But we’ve gone out every day since we first met. We’re out right now.” Watching Anders rolls his eyes made Hawke laugh to himself. “Are you saying I should take him out on an apost-date?”

From down the line Anders was too annoyed to stop himself from making a disappointed face at Hawke. “Ouch,” he joked, getting caught up in a laugh. “That was bad. Really bad.” He turned again, faking interest in whatever wares he was browsing, continuing to smile in that amused, endearing way. “Not your worst, though,” he admitted.

Taking a quick peek at the other mage, Merrill giggled. She put a finger into Hawke’s chest. “See?” She was delighted to have proven her point. “He definitely likes you!” 

Hawke attended to her like he was particularly thrilled with this revelation. “Well, that’s convenient, because I like him, too.” He gave Anders a break by not waiting for a reaction, then hitched a thumb over his shoulder to the Rivaini woman behind him. “It’s too bad I already have a girlfriend.”

Isabela mockingly cringed at the word. “Hey. We agreed not to use obscenities, remember?” Her golden eyes were shaded beneath the brim of her cap. “I sleep with you because you’re my friend and you glow when you’re lonely. That magic of yours has far more thrilling uses than just murder.” When Hawke turned his eyes away from her, she moved to his side, sneaking her arms around his waist. “I have other people to take your place, Hawke. They won’t be as quick with their tongue, but nonetheless.” She smirked, and Hawke couldn’t help but to do the same. “I’m a girl and I’m your friend, but we’re rutting. There’s no romance here.” 

Hawke leaned towards her, putting his arms around her and inhaling her characteristic scent. It was remarkable how even after over a year of being grounded, she still smelled of the open seas. “Oh, you heartbreaker,” he said, letting his eyes fall half-closed. “What about love? It can be persistent, you know.” He already knew her opinion on this but loved to tease.

Isabela loved to tease as well. Her long, black lashes shaded her eyes as much as her new hat did. “Love is dangerous and deadly. It can go bother someone else. I prefer lust.” She moved closer to him, shifting up onto her toes so his hands shifted down to her shapely, pillow-soft rear end. She turned her face and brought a hand up to his, stroking his beard with painted fingers, slow and gentle. Her teeth showed through her dark lips. “You big Mabari hound,” she cooed affectionately. “You’re too good for me.” She moved her face to Hawke’s shoulder, peering over it, most likely at Anders, but whispering to Hawke, “Baby, you need love. And you have it.”

As she moved her hands from his beard to his lips and traced a sharp, red fingernail across them, Hawke hummed. It was not long after that she pulled away, winking at him. He breathed, trying to snap back to reality. Hawke turned his head, looking to Anders again. “If you really cared about me, you’d be setting me up with Merrill,” he muttered to Isabela. Thankfully Anders had a good sense of humor and smiled at this, but Merrill was watching.

Turning to the other woman, Isabela brushed Merrill’s blushing cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re a little too reckless for her. You’re destined to break her little heart.” She and the elf exchanged small smiles. They had become very good friends since they had first met, inseparable despite their vast array of differences. “Besides,” she added kindly, “You aren’t her style.” 

“That isn’t true,” Hawke asserted, pretending to be offended. “She has great style.” Meeting the Dalish girl’s big, green eyes reminded Hawke of how much Carver had adored her. He reached out and pulled her into a hug. “Come here, you.” She allowed herself to be bear-hugged and he kissed her on the cheek so his beard was scratching against her soft skin.

Giggling in his grasp, Merrill was blushing red. “Oh! Hawke!” So much smaller than him, she was almost suffocated in his arms. When he released her, she was still frantic and endeavored to pat down her messed black hair with a flat palm. “Did it get hot out here or is it just me?” she wondered aloud, pretending to direct her attention back to the hat stall.

Everyone got tired of Hawke’s deflecting at some point, but Isabela had the shortest fuse. “Hawke. I’m serious when I say those things about Anders.” She looked over to him to make sure he was still pretending to ignore them. “As unbearable as the man is, he loves you like mad.” She shrugged. “None of us can blame him.” 

Hawke found a women’s rose pink, feathered cap and put it on his own head, posing humorlessly as Merrill giggled at his playfulness. He grabbed it by the brim and tried squeezing it onto his large head but it hardly budged. “Anders hasn’t said a single nice thing to you since you’ve known him, and here you are setting him up with the most sought-after bachelor in Kirkwall.” When Isabela raised her eyebrow at him, he elaborated, lowering his voice slightly, taking the hat off and putting it back where he found it. “You’re being nice,” he accused. “Tongues will wag.”

When her face darkened in a mischievous smirk, everyone knew she was going to begin her hidden talent of spewing endless dirty euphemisms better than any famous author ever could. “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking that a little sexual healing would better his bitchy attitude.” Hawke already started cracking up, and she took this as the cue to keep going. “You could remove the stick up his ass and replace it with something far more stiff and sensual.” She was saying this loud enough for Anders to hear her. When she noticed Anders wasn’t reacting, she shouted louder. “He must get tired of thinking of Hawke while casting spells on his own magic staff night after night. He’s had such a long dry spell that when he walks it sounds like socks slapping together. His hole is tighter than the Grand Cleric’s!” She cupped a hand around her mouth and called out to him. “I bet that hard, righteous Fade spirit inside of him would want use his staff of rectitude on you as well.”

Hawke shook his head, feigning disappointment, taking initiative to stop her before Anders got too upset. “That’s twice with the staff pun. You’re usually better at this.” He couldn’t hold back a smile for any longer. “I liked the one about the Grand Cleric, though.” When he noticed Anders had snuck up silently and was now standing at his side, Hawke lifted into a beaming grin. “Hey, Anders. We were just talking about you.” He put an arm around the mage’s feathered shoulders and Anders received the embrace warmly.

Predictably, Anders was flustered from listening to all of this dirty talk. His was trying to appear unmarked but his cheeks were burning with a flustered shade of red. “Oh, were you? I wasn’t listening.” He enjoyed it when Hawke touched him, even if it was just a simple gesture of placing his heavy arm around his back so that the locks of his silky blonde hair brushed bare skin.

Still not satisfied with Anders’ lack of anger, Isabela tried even harder. “So what do you say?” she asked him, nudging his arm with a fist. “Do you want to master Hawke’s taint? Cup his Joining? Grey his Warden?” Puns were some of Anders’ least favorite forms of humor, and the team knew this all too well. It was definitely something Anders shouldn’t have let them know.

Through a laugh, Hawke managed to add, “Explore my Deep Roads?” When Anders sighed, put a hand up to cover his smirking face, and shook his head, Hawke just pulled him closer, snickering at his own admittedly horrible joke.

Isabela completely lit up. “Nice!” She pointed a finger at Hawke. “I have got to remember that one.”

Merrill was blushing beneath a woven, twine hat that was far too big for her head. “Oh,” she said with a tone of realization. “By ‘staff’, you meant…” She hesitated, flushing. “I get it now.”

Isabela looked to her affectionately. “Merrill, sometimes you’re so sweet I could eat you for dessert.” Raising a hand up to the hat she was still wearing, she looked back to Hawke and sweetened her voice. “How does this hat look on me?” she cooed softly, swaying her hips as she moved closer to where he and Anders were standing. “Would you buy it for me?” 

The hat did look quite good on her, and Hawke never refused his friends when they asked for something nicely. “For a kiss? Maybe,” he allowed after a moment of considering. 

Almost instantly, Isabela encroached upon Hawke, getting up on her toes to meet his lips, pressing her breasts up against his wide torso. She put one hand on Hawke’s shoulder and with the other reached over to Anders’ cheek, patting it affectionately as he attempted to ignore the intimate contact his two friends were having just a foot away from his face. 

As Hawke tossed two pieces of silver to the shopkeeper, frantic footsteps approached the team from behind. “Ser Hawke! Oh, thank the Maker it’s you.” Her desperate cry caused Isabela and Hawke to move away and Hawke to move his arm from Anders’ shoulders. Hawke stepped forward to meet her halfway. Her eyes were wide, her hair frizzy from stress. She was an elven woman, middle-aged and oddly familiar. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I need your help. Please.”

People around the marketplace were starting to stare, so Hawke tried to calm her down by making a joke. “Why is it always Hawke to the rescue? Why can’t people ask for his dashing pirate duelist, or his delicate Dalish pariah, or his handsome healer mage?” None of this seemed to calm her down any, so Hawke just grimaced at her, waiting for an explanation.

Anders lowered his brow. “Wait, I remember you. You’re that elven mage’s mother.” He paused, reaching into the back of his memory. “Fenyriel,” he recalled. “The one we brought to the Dalish.” It was over a year since then. Hawke had received a letter of thanks from the boy, but that had been several months back, and nothing seemed wrong when he reached out. 

The woman nodded to Anders eagerly. “Yes,” she affirmed to Anders, then attended back to Hawke, who everyone tended to assume was in charge. “Fenryiel has been having… dreams.” Her lack of clarification only made this more dubious. “He’s trapped in the Fade.” 

Hawke did not know much of the Fade. He was no mage and did not dream there, but he knew it was an alternate realm where demons and spirits lived. He winced. “Well. That sounds… horrible.” He was not afraid to admit that he knew absolutely nothing about this topic. “Merrill? Anders? Do either of you know something about this?”

Anders cut Merrill off before she could even answer. “Dreamers possess an extremely rare and ancient magic that is revered in Tevinter,” he sighed, starting to get visibly worried for the boy. “Without mastery of their powers, they are extremely dangerous.” Of course, anything revered in Tevinter was sure to be powerfully dangerous. 

When it was her turn, Merrill added to his claim. “If possessed, dreamers can summon spirits and demons into this world at will.” She looked at the exasperated elven woman and then back to Hawke. “We have to save him before he gives into temptation. We must hurry.” She was a prompt empath and feared for the boy’s safety as much as his own mother did. 

Clasping her hands together before her so tightly that her knuckles went white, the fretted elf looked up at Hawke, almost twice her height, with eyes threatening to spill tears. “Hawke, you must help him. He speaks of you constantly, you’re his hero.” She reached her hands out and took one of his, her small fingers barely able to clutch Hawke’s massive hand hers. “Please. The Keeper knows a way to get your team into the Fade safely.” Her voice was restrained, almost shaking. 

Hawke offered a gentle smile. He knew that kindness was usually the best option. “Of course we’ll help. Lead the way.” He could feel Anders’ affectionate gaze upon him but pretended not to notice. When the elven woman turned around and led them through the streets back to the Alienage, Hawke took the first step towards following her, and his team trailed right behind. 

Snaking through the crowded square around and through people who would not budge felt like an endless maze, but Hawke and Anders stuck together all the same. “So. The Fade.” Anders sighed to himself. “This should be… bracing,” he decided, which meant he really felt apprehensive about it. Hawke only needed a quick glance at his friend to know this to be true. 

When Hawke realized he didn’t even consider how Anders felt before agreeing to aid the woman, he felt guilty. “Will you be okay in the Fade? If you don’t want to come, I understand.” He tried smiling, his first resort in cheering up people he liked. “I’d really prefer it if you did, though, because I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m a little bit scared.” Not only was he Hawke’s best friend, but Anders also was much braver than Hawke and they relied on each other for strength.

Smiling faintly, Anders reassured him, “I do want to come.” The smile went away just as quickly as it appeared. His eyes shifted down. “It’s only that I worry what it might bring out in me. Or who it might bring out in me, more aptly.” It was obvious that he was worried about how Justice would react, and Hawke kicked himself for not being quick enough to put two and two together. 

It had been a very long time since Hawke had caught a glimpse of Justice. “Justice is good conversation,” Hawke shrugged in an attempt to reaffirm that he was not afraid of the Fade spirit. “It’s about time he and I caught up.” The muscles in Anders’ shoulders were tense as he kept them close to dodge through the congested square. Still feeling guilt-ridden, Hawke swung his arm so that his fingers brushed the skin of the back of Anders’ hand lightly, gently, reassuring him. “Hey,” he purred. “You’re stronger than you think.”

The touch caused a transient smile to pass across the mage’s lips. He seemed to want more and put his hand within Hawke’s so that their fingers were hooking together loosely. “With you at my side, I have nothing to fear.” He released his hand immediately after, looking forward again to make sure they were going the right way, but only for a moment before he turned back again and met eyes with his beaming friend again. 

Isabela interrupted by walking directly behind them and putting one hand on each of their shoulders. This touch snapped them back to reality. “If you guys are done making kissy faces at each other, we should hurry,” she sighed, delighted to watch them smile at her joke and at each other. “And please don’t talk like that in public, okay? You should really save that for the bedroom. It’s making all of us uncomfortable.” This made both Hawke and Anders laugh, and suddenly the demon-infested Fade seemed a lot less terrifying.


	8. Bluish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders likes Hawke, and somehow, Justice does, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really bothered me that I have so many unfinished fics so I'm just going to wrap this baby up. It's the only thing I've written recently that isn't rated Explicit. I'm kind of sad to see it end, but now the sinning can commence!

Hawke already had a fire going and was in for the night when there was a knock at his door. He glanced down to make sure his robes were tied properly and wouldn’t come apart, and then called out, “Come in, Anders.” The door was always unlocked, a point both Fenris and Anders scolded him for, but he never saw the harm in doing so. When Anders came in and shut the door behind him, Hawke remained in the living room across the hall and reprimanded him. “I don’t like you making the pilgrimage all the way up to Hightown. You can always just climb up the cellar.” The lock had been broken off when the team broke in a year past, so he didn’t need a key.

There was something about Anders’ behavior that made him appear nervous, but it was starting to fade away as he moved closer to Hawke and the fireplace. “Thorough all those spider webs?” he laughed. “With my luck I’d get one on me and you wouldn’t touch me for weeks.” Hawke didn’t let himself get annoyed when people made fun of his fear of spiders. There were worse things they could tease him for. “How did you know it was me at the door?” Anders wondered.

Hawke watched him approach. He was wearing those feathered robes as he always did, layered atop cotton and chainmail, packing him warmly in the cold night. “You knocked,” Hawke shrugged. “Everyone else just waltzes in whenever they please.” 

Yet again, Anders smiled. He had a pretty smile, a sweet one. He looked up at Hawke, meeting his eyes for a long time, and pausing, thinking about something. He glanced down, and then up again. He paused yet again, studying Hawke’s smiling face, and then took a breath to calm himself before raising up on his toes slightly, putting one hand on Hawke’s shoulder, and saying, “It’s good to see you, Hawke.” Anders then turned his face up and planted a small, quick kiss on Hawke’s cheek. 

It took everything in Hawke’s power not to make a joke or witty comment, but he managed, and calmly smiled. Anders’ cheeks were pink and he was too nervous to make eye contact with Hawke again after that, so Hawke proceeded. He watched Anders’ gaze turn to the other person in his home. Orana was sheepishly smiling, not sure if she should intrude. Hawke gestured to her. “Anders, this is Orana. She makes the best coffee in all of the Free Marches.” They had met before when the team rescued her from the slaver caverns.

Orana had shown up a few days past. All she had to do was simply ask anyone in Kirkwall where she could find Hawke, and they led her to his estate. She was staying in a guest room on the main floor. Hawke was paying her as a servant despite her instinctive inclination to behave like a slave. “Hello, mister Anders,” the young elf greeted, bowing. “Master Hawke has told me many good things about you.” She straightened herself and cocked her head inquisitively. “Is it true that you have a cat that was knighted by the King of Fereldan?” 

This made Anders light up in a smile as he side-eyed Hawke. “Yes, that’s true,” he lied, because there was no harm in doing so. He smiled back at her. “A pleasure to meet you, Orana.” He watched as she bowed a final time and retreated back to the kitchens. 

Hawke felt calm from head to toe. “I’m glad you’re here,” he blurted out, because it was a true fact, but then realized he had nothing to finish with. I can tell by the look of you that you only sleep once a month, but it’s not like you to visit this late at night.” He narrowed his eyes teasingly. “And of course, we only see each other when we have a really good reason to.”

Of course, this wasn’t true, but it seemed that Anders did have something on his mind. The rush of blood to his cheeks started fading. “I came over because I wanted to thank you,” he started. “You and Justice got along extremely well in the Fade.” There was so much more he wanted to say. When he realized his hand was still placed upon Hawke’s shoulder, he removed it and turned his head down, bringing the hand up to brush hair away from his line of sight.

Hawke gestured for him to sit on the couch near the fireplace, and Anders sat right on the middle cushion of the brown linen sofa, sitting on its edge as his behind sank down in it comfortably. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” Hawke grinned dismissively. “I like to think that he’s my friend. Coming to understand him is a challenge, but getting along with him comes as easily as it does with you, Varric, or Fenris.” He furrowed his brow as he took a seat to Anders’ left, near the armrest of the same couch, crossing one leg over his lap. “Well, maybe not Fenris,” he admitted.

Anders had his hands folded neatly on his lap. He was still clutching the amulet, and the cool golden metal growing heated with the prolonged handling. He placed it in the pocket of his coat. “You know,” he reminisced dreamily, “When you and I first met, Justice pushed me from you. His thoughts became my doubts, forcing me away, telling me that you hated me or you were taking advantage of me.” He shook his head gently. “I fought him every day.” Hawke tried to get an inclination of how emotionally difficult it must have been to do so. “Over time, he grew curious about you. Then he started accepting you, first for your fighting skills, then for your ideology, and now…” He looked up and met Hawke’s eyes again. “Everything.”

Hawke wondered if this was a declaration of love. He decided that Anders was not one to dance around a fact such as that. He might defend himself from it, but when he was ready, he would share it openly. Hawke put it attention back to Justice. “Did you hear he called me beautiful in the Fade? I felt like melting.” He wanted to make it clear that he had a crush on the fade spirit, too.

Anders grinned, “Yes. That was new, too.” It was a characteristic gesture of his for any smile he had built up to drop in an instant. “But I feel like I should apologize for the inappropriate things he shared. I feared he would do that.” Once again, Anders was apologizing for something that he had no reason to feel sorry about.

Still, Hawke wanted him to feel better about it. “It’s okay. He didn’t mean any harm.” Soothing him was the first tactic, whether it worked or not. “But he certainly speaks his mind, I’ll give him that.” Realistically, this wasn’t any different than any of Hawke’s other friends, Anders included. Hawke leaned back in his chair, relaxing. He draped an arm around the back of the couch so it was reaching behind Anders’ back, a touchless embrace. “I’m lucky,” Hawke continued coolly. “The both of you are… great. If you asked me a year ago if I thought I was worthy enough to get both of you to like me, I would have called you crazy.”

Anders was looking into Hawke’s eyes with a pure sort of concern. He held himself back from something, not for the first time. Then he took a breath and pushed forward anyway. “The way you handle this means so much to me,” he declared. “You see Justice and me as two separate beings, not some twisted, corrupted… abomination.” The last word came out weakly. It was something he feared and something that couldn’t be further from his reality. “No one else sees it that way. I certainly don’t.” Anders caught a glimpse of the arm behind his back and gently smiled. “You’re taking the initiative to become friends with the both of us.” The smile was gone again. “It means a lot to me, Hawke. I want you to know that.” He was practically begging Hawke not to joke about this.

Thankfully, Hawke knew better than to make a joke of it, because he knew Anders was in no manner joking. “How is he feeling right now?” Hawke wondered. He was relieved to have Justice as the topic of choice tonight. He never knew when it was appropriate to bring it up. 

Anders furrowed his brow and looked at the floor, considering. He gestured with his hand that he was thinking hard, trying to get the right words out to describe Justice’s emotions, but could feel nothing. “When the both of us have corresponding, concurrent feelings and desires… the sensation is indescribable. It feels like… exultance.” He scooted forward in his seat and thought harder. “Right now, for the first time since I joined with him, he’s relaxed.” A small smile crossed his face. “In fact, he’s happy, because you’re here. Hearing your voice, seeing you smile… it’s making him ring like a bell.” He turned his face so he was looking at Hawke again. “When I… kissed you, he rushed up to my lips so he could meet you, too.” After that, he closed his mouth and swallowed his nerves down. It was dawning on him what Justice was experiencing, but he didn’t share.

Hawke was silent as he pictured the spirit of justice, trying with all his might to imagine how the phenomenon must feel. Anders was trying his best to describe it, but even he had trouble comparing it to anything else. It fascinated Hawke, almost as much as Anders himself did. As he moved his leg off his lap and back so it was planted on the floor, he could feel himself smiling as he looked at the mage with starry eyes. He didn’t feel the need to say anything at all.

Anders’ face was set calmly. His lips were thinned slightly, most likely with apprehension. He took a breath and put his hand out, palm up. “Feel this,” he suggested. He was almost whispering now. The fire in the hearth was louder than his voice.

When Hawke leaned forward, reached out, and placed Anders’ hand in two of his own, he could feel the visible difference as pulsating heat rushed in his blood, warming up Anders’ hand in a surge of bright heat. Hawke looked closely and could see the veins in Anders’ wrist start to illuminate in a dull blue, almost unnoticeably, pulsating with his heart. Hawke flipped Anders’ hand onto his palm and saw the veins on the top brightening as well. With his thumb, Hawke traced a path across Anders’ warm flesh and across the valleys of his knuckles. And when Hawke brought the hand up to his mouth and put his lips there onto the soft skin of the back of his long fingers, the heat only grew and grew, the light continued to brighten, and a distant, inadvertent buzz of electricity tingled Hawke’s firmly-placed lips. Hawke let his eyes fall closed as he felt the presence of all three of them sharing heat together, feeling Anders’ fingers inadvertently clutch around his own.

When he moved the hand away and released it, Hawke looked up to see Anders’ face, cheeks flushed, eyed wide, expression exasperated. He swallowed hard, and then a corner of his lips turned up. “This is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced,” he remarked, looking down at his hand as it returned to normal. “Justice has never… desired anyone before.” His voice was growing quieter and quieter as his emotions only became stronger.

Hawke sat up, leaning forward to hear him and to be close to him. Hawke lowered his voice, too. “So, what you’re saying is, there’s nothing holding you back?” He was only half-joking when he said this. Justice had said in the Fade that he was holding Anders back. Hawke assumed this was no longer the case, but was nervous to find out for sure.

Tragically, Anders did smile, but not genuinely. “Nothing but myself.” He couldn’t find the strength to maintain the smile any longer. They were both on the edges of their seats now, feet and shoulders angled towards each other, close and comfortable. Anders’ eyes were turned down, looking at Hawke’s hands, eyelids drooping slightly. “Hawke…”

Hawke echoed him, murmuring, “Anders.” He watched Anders’ tawny brown eyes dart up to examine his mouth as it whispered the name. 

They moved towards each other, closer slowly, and kissed. It felt final. They breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, of definiteness. Everything was certain, suddenly. They pressed their lips together, holding their breath, and the fire fell quiet beneath the senses connecting them in the silence. They kissed with familiarity, moving their lips against each other and feeling like they belonged there. Hawke raised a hand to Anders’ face, grazing the pads of his fingertips against blonde stubble that prickled against him and Anders shivered, the hairs of the back of his neck standing up on end. When they breathed out through their noses, it was simultaneous and silent as well, and behind their closed eyes nothing was dark.

When they pulled away some time later, they kept close, opening their eyes to stare at each other in breathless exasperation. Feeling like he was going to melt into a puddle in his seat, Hawke chuckled to himself. “I was wondering if we were ever going to do that,” he grinned stupidly, putting his hand down onto his lap, clenching it tight into an eager fist.

Anders’ brilliant brown eyes were widened as they stared down at Hawke’s smiling lips. “I’m… sorry,” he stammered after a moment, still breathless, entirely unsure what to do or say.

Hawke smirked, but it was more of a grimace. “I’m sorry that you feel sorry.” His stomach was starting to twist. He didn’t want to hear that Anders regretted what just happened. 

Sitting back and taking a moment to think, Anders shook his head, frustrated with himself at the choice of words. “No, I don’t feel sorry, I…” When it finally registered that Hawke was smiling, Anders found himself caught up in a smile as well. Then he started to laugh, bringing a hand to cover his mouth as he turned away, exhaling, “Oh, Maker. It’s like I’m a boy again, kissing for the very first time.” The grin only spread wider, like a fire across his face. His eyes closed in a moment of bliss, almost too fast for Hawke to notice them momentarily flash blue. He continued giggling into his hand despite himself. “I’m shivering all over.” He opened his eyes, turned back to Hawke, and put his hand down, raising an eyebrow. “That was inevitable, wasn’t it?” His cheeks were glowing with adrenaline and excitement.

Hawke was beyond relieved to see that Anders didn’t regret this one bit. “Sure was,” Hawke laughed, still hunched over and giddy from excitement. He was watching Anders with his own starry, wide eyes. “Remind me again why we didn’t do this sooner?” It was suddenly very unclear to him as to why they hadn’t already been dating since at least the first week they had met.

Anders’ head was titled slightly. He was facing Hawke with wholehearted affection. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he started quietly, “How many times I’d lay awake staring at my ceiling, thinking of you…” He leaned back in his seat on the couch, letting his head fall back, staring up at the ornate chandelier up above. He laughed at himself. “Andraste help me,” he exhaled, “I’m stammering like an idiot.”

Shaking his head jokily, Hawke pled, “Keep talking, please. I’m speechless for once.” This was mostly due to the fact that Hawke could listen to Anders talk for the entire night. He was almost tempted to ask Orana to get them some drinks to loosen their tongues a bit more, but he figured that might be overstepping his bounds. 

Anders sat up again, looking Hawke in the eyes. His smile was slowly going away. “I’d been…” he sighed again, silently. “This sounds foolish, but I’d been thinking about it so often. What it would be like when we kissed for the first time.” The way he said ‘when’ and not ‘if’ made Hawke smile. “I wanted it to be special. I wanted everything about it to be perfect.” His face started to drop in concern. “On your birthday, it just wasn’t right. It was impersonal.” His brow creased. “I knew you were upset. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Slighting you was selfish of me. I’m sorry.” He didn’t need to explain himself, but Hawke was glad that he did.

There were not many things Hawke remembered about that night, but being slighted by Anders was something he couldn’t forget. To show it was no big deal, Hawke shrugged. “I was drunk. I wouldn’t have been at my best, anyway.” He was relieved when Anders lit up in a smile again. Hawke narrowed his eyes at the flustered mage. “I never took you for a romantic, though.”

“Neither did I,” Anders agreed, “Until I met you. You’ve been stirring a lot of strange feelings in me this past year.” Hawke tried not to think too hard about what he was implying. Anders looked down at his fidgeting hands. “It’s always been a children’s story in my mind, you know? A prince and a knight?” He immediately started to grimace after sharing that mildly embarrassing detail. 

Hawke shrugged, his wit slowly but surely returning to him. “I was thinking something more along the lines of a kinky mage and a naughty Templar.” This made Anders burst into laughter, and Hawke couldn’t help but laugh with him, putting his arm around the back of the couch again. When they finally settled, Hawke raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Well, how was this, then? Romantic enough for you?” He gestured with his other hand to his estate, lit solely by hearth fire and the starlight coming in from the blinds parted at the windows.

Anders glanced back to see the arm Hawke had snuck behind him. “I don’t know,” he teased. “It could use a bit more candlelight, but other than that…” He leaned back so that he was lying in Hawke’s grasp, resting his cheek against the arm on the couch head behind him. He sighed, almost dreamily. “I’m not sorry for kissing you,” he made clear. This seemed like another apology.

Hawke sighed adoringly at his requited love interest. “Neither am I.” He raised an eyebrow. With Anders, he was never sure what to expect. This night could end in a myriad of different ways and Hawke was not expecting any one outcome more than another.

Anders sat up straight. His smile vanished. “Kiss me again,” he ached. He was pining for another touch, and thankfully, Hawke was, too.

And so they delved into each other again, Anders taking the initiative to hold Hawke’s face with his hands, pulling him closer. This gradually grew impassioned, increasing in intensity at the speed of molasses. As their pleasure increased, Anders was beginning to lose himself, softening into malleability, humming feebly against Hawke’s mouth as Hawke struggled not to snap out of reality and maintain focus for as long as he could. It was Hawke who let his tongue pass first, and Anders met this fervor with an equal, if not stronger response.

Not long after they began, Anders pulled away and climbed atop of Hawke, sitting on his lap and facing him, legs spread and straddling his waist, kneeling against the back of the plush couch. They met eyes for only a second before closing them again, Anders leaning in, holding Hawke’s face again, meeting in the continued kiss. Their hips pressed together, Anders’ leaning back just enough so that his pelvis met Hawke’s, creating a dangerous friction. Hawke could feel his own privates rubbing against the base of Anders’ ass and pretended with all his might not to notice.

So close to him, Hawke could taste the uncleanliness of his breath and smell the feathers of his pauldrons, which tickled Hawke’s neck when Anders turned too far. The hands on his face were starting to warm up, clarifying that Justice was present, involved, and entirely curious. Hawke had his hands on Anders’ slim waist as the mage hunched over him, moving his own arms so they were draped around Hawke’s neck off the back of the couch. Anders shifted his hips, raising slightly so that Hawke’s hands moved down to his hips and then to his ass, where he gripped lightly and playfully through layers of robes and pants and underclothes, causing Anders to curve his back slightly and let a moan escape from the back of his throat.

Anders only pulled away once their lips were becoming tired and numb, tingling from overuse and lack of blood flow. He panted for a second, bringing his hands to Hawke’s hair, sifting his fingers through it so the black locks hid his white flesh completely. “If we are to die tomorrow,” he whispered, lips so close to Hawke’s that his words drew and produced soft breath, “I didn’t want it to be without doing that.”

Hawke moved his hands down so they were resting, gripping slightly on the sides of Anders’ thighs. Hawke was already near laughter again. “So that’s it? Now you’re ready to die?” He was being very careful not to overstep the line but he was too excited to calm himself down. 

Unsurprisingly, Anders didn’t smile at this. His thoughts were preoccupied with something else entirely. Something was making him sad, and Hawke almost guessed he was about to apologize again for whatever he felt he was doing wrong. “Does this mean anything?” he wondered, looking down at Hawke, breathless. He sounded fraught but he did well to hide any degree of hopefulness in his tone. He was worried that Hawke saw him just as another friend inclined to sexual benefits, such as he was with Isabela or somewhat with Fenris. 

The truth was, Hawke would only take the next step if Anders himself initiated it. He didn’t know how to say this and prayed Anders would pick it up on his own. “Maybe not,” he shrugged. “Or maybe it means everything. I’m terrible at figuring these things out.”

With a small smile, Anders shifted down so that he was seated upon Hawke’s lap, still bestriding him, his crotch close to Hawke’s midsection, straddled by his legs. “I like this a lot,” he admitted. Anders looked away, and then back. “More than I should, probably.” He moved his hands again so they were holding Hawke’s face, brushing against his short-cropped beard. “I suppose that has to count for something,” he whispered.

Only then Hawke noticed Anders’ eyes. They were no longer ochre brown, instead they were a baby blue tone. They were not glowing like they would be if Justice were present, it was just that they had simply changed color. Hawke put a hand to his face and stroked his cheek. “Hm,” he said curiously. “Your eyes are blue. That’s new.” He was thrilled merely to be touching Anders let alone having the opportunity to kiss him. He removed the hand, putting it back on Anders’ waist. “Is Justice alright?” This experience was entirely new for the spirit, who beforehand only had memories to base the feelings off of.

It was clear that Anders appreciated the concern. “He’s quiet. Curious.” He gave Hawke a small, troubled smile, and it dropped almost as fast as Hawke blinked. “But I don’t think that either of us are… ready.” It was confirmation that he was not going to spend the night. He seemed to regret it, but he would only make such a choice if it were necessary. “I’m sorry, Hawke,” he sighed, looking down, entirely disappointed in himself.

Hawke put his hand back to Anders’ face, tilting his cheek so they met eyes again. “Hey. That’s okay,” he reassured him, voice calm and steady. “You know what’s best.” This seemed to relax him, if only slightly. Still, Hawke found himself incredibly hurt by the thought of Anders leaving this couch. “You can still stay, if you want,” he offered. “My bed is big enough for the three of us.” It was difficult for him to do this without begging, even though he felt like it. He wouldn’t tell Anders this, but he did find it hard to sleep in such a large house without Carver present. Hawke gave no hints to how much a small detail like this upset him. He was almost desperate for Anders to say yes.

Anders relaxed against his touch, gazing at him affectionately, but then the worry crept over his expression again. “Thank you for offering, but I should go.” He had to force himself to get off of Hawke and stand in front of the couch on his feet. Hawke stood, too, and they faced each other in front of the fireplace. “I’m glad we did that.” His eyes lingered before he turned around to make sure Hawke’s smile was genuine, and it was.


End file.
